


Cosa Nostra

by GirlquinndreameR



Category: Borgias - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlquinndreameR/pseuds/GirlquinndreameR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power of the nation lies in strategy, money, corruption and violence. It’s time for Cesare Borgia to establish his ambition and get what he really wants. (Modern setting)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Pulling the trigger was like breathing to him. It didn’t take any extra effort, it didn’t strain his body in any way. There was even an inexplicable thrill that shot up his spine as he pulled the trigger, forcing a bullet into Giovanni Sforza’s chest, point blank range.

The light in his recent victim’s eyes drained and his corpse unceremoniously slumped onto the cold hardwood floor. Without hesitation, he made his way to the front door, where his right-hand man was standing guard. 

“Micheletto,” he spoke softly as he walked past the red-headed man, “Let’s go.” 

Micheletto matched step with him and quickly made their way down the fire escape, to the black Maserati parked in the dark alley. They started the car and drove quickly.  
\--

The stars were covered with scattered clouds by the time Cesare arrived back home. His parents’ home, a tall two-story mansion of iron gates and cream plaster walls, was only lit with a few outside lights, illuminating the grounds just enough to witness any potential suspicious movement.

They parked the Maserati in the underground garage, next to a line of ten other cars of different makes and models. Both men parted ways after greeting one another ‘goodnight’: Micheletto to the west wing of the complex, and Cesare to the main house.

The mansion was dark; the employees of the house were asleep long ago, Cesare assumed. With the assistance of dim moonlight, he strode across the marble entrance foyer, up the marble staircase and entered his room, second door to the right. 

He began his ritual of undress: black blazer off and slung over a high back chair, pistol out of its holdster and onto the bed, leather holster thrown on the high back chair. He collected a few pieces of cotton, a small bottle of cleaning solution and small cleaning cloths from his bedside drawer and placed it all beside his gun. He reached for a palm-size remote that he had left on his bedside table; one press of the power button and the room filled with Italian opera on low volume.

He slowly disassembled his gun in its parts and began to soak a few pieces of cotton with cleaning solution. Just as he began cleaning the barrel, he saw his bedroom door open right in front of him. A blur of white and wavy gold entered the room in a rush, and then slowly she shut the door, trying to keep her visit quiet from the rest of the mansion.

“Welcome home, Cesare,” she smiled at him, holding her white robe tightly closed with a fist.

A smile formed on his lips. “You’re still up, Lucrezia?”

She leaned back against the body of the door, simultaneously letting her robe drape open, revealing the matching short lace white nightgown underneath. “You left right after dinner without telling a soul where you were going.”

“I did tell someone.”

“Besides Micheletto,” she arched an eyebrow.

He smirked at her and a glimmer formed in his dark eyes. He tried to return to his task, but as Lucrezia walked to join him on the bed, he couldn’t help but notice how her nightgown barely left anything to his imagination. How her peach skin peeked out from the material, how the thin fabric clinged to her body. He had to close his eyes momentarily to focus.

She joined him on his bed in silence for a few breaths, watching him begin a task she was so used to him doing. As he finished cleaning out the barrel, she laid her chin gently on his right shoulder and she softly asked, “Who was it?”

“Who?”

“The poor person who got finished off at the other end of that gun.”

“No one important,” he answered her.

“Is that so? I heard Papa in his office earlier, talking to someone on the phone,” Lucrezia whispered in his ear, tickling it with her warm breath. “He heard something happen at the Sforza apartment.”

Cesare slowly turned his head to her. “You’re asking, but you already know, it looks like.”

She smiled at him, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I just want to make sure that I heard things right.” She paused for a moment and then continued. “You know, if Papa finds out, he’s going to be mad. He was hoping Giovanni would make a good ally.”

“Giovanni is a pig and doesn’t deserve you,” Cesare spat. 

Lucrezia giggled slightly. “You can’t shoot every guy Papa wants to match me up with.”

“I can if they’re assholes who don’t deserve you.”

“But you don’t think anyone deserves me.”

“Then I guess you’ll be alone,” he shrugged. 

She looked at him thoughtfully, her body pressed against his frame, chin still on his shoulder. “Hmm... I don’t think I’ll be alone. Not really.” She reached her hand up to his cheek; he closed his eyes at the sensation of her touch. She moved her hand back, fingers gently combing through his curly brown hair, before caressing his neck and settling right at his collar, where she undid the top button of his black shirt. 

Cesare opened his eyes and placed the gun frame on his lap. He reached for her left knee with his right hand and touched the smooth skin before rotating to the base of her inner thigh, gently squeezing the soft flesh of her upper leg. He took a deep breath and they slowly closed their eyes, relishing in the company of one another for a few brief seconds. 

Moments like these, Cesare thought, were so dangerous. Full of danger, indulgence, wanting...

“Thank you, though,” she said to him. “He was rude, obnoxious, cold...and he was an asshole.”

“Just doing my duty,” he pulled his hand away, back to the cold unyielding black metal before him.

“Your brotherly duty,” she mused. “Your loving duty...”

“Exactly,” he turned to her again and noticed she was still staring at him. Her steely-blue eyes locked with his and he unconsciously held his breath. He could feel his insides warm as she continued her gaze on him, her fingertips gently playing with his shirt collar. 

She flashed one more smile at him before she said, “Bedtime for me. Don’t stay up too late.”

He didn’t say anything, only nodded as she placed herself up with one knee on the bed and a hand to his thigh to prop herself up. Lucrezia leaned towards him, and they simultaneously kissed one another on the cheek. She angled her head sharply to the right; her lips gently brushing the corner of his. Lucrezia kept her eyes forward to the door and she ever so gently opened it and tiptoed out of the room. 

As soon as the door closed shut, Cesare took a deep inhale. The air still had that sweet smell of his sister, a soft mix of vanilla and soap. He grabbed a cloth and refocused, buffing and polishing the metal gun feverishly.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Ages... Juan 24, Cesare 22, Lucrezia 20, Jeofre 18. I played with their ages for my own purposes. And, this whole story is my take of season 3, little bits of season 2, dabbles of season 1, but mostly it’s a game of “can you guess the original scene from The Borgias”?

 

Part 1

 

He woke up early that morning, right before his alarm began. Before it had the chance, he reached over to his bedside alarm clock and shut it off. Cesare pulled himself out of bed and dragged his feet to the en-suite bathroom. He began to get ready: combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and made sure he looked decent enough for the breakfast table.

 

Cesare left his room and walked downstairs to the dining room where most of his family was already sitting for breakfast. “Good morning, Dad,” he greeted the head of the table.

 

“Good morning,” Rodrigo briefly peeked up from his newspaper and returned to the black and white in hand.

 

Cesare continued to greet his family a good morning, with a kiss on the cheek to his mother and a kiss on his sister’s crown before sitting down at the long Cuban mahogany table. Within moments, a maid approached on his right side and set in front of him a tray with his usual breakfast: pieces of toast with a side of ham and bacon, and a few sweet cinnamon pastries on the side. He took a sip of his cappuccino before starting on his food.

 

“So, when is Jeofre coming in today?” Lucrezia asked her mother from across the table.

 

“We are picking him up late this afternoon,” Vanozza sighed pleasantly. “I’ve been waiting too long. We sent all of you away in some form of another, boarding school or college, and it doesn’t get easier with each child. It will be nice to have everyone under one roof again.”

 

“Gooooood mornin’,” chimed another male voice. Cesare looked up and raised a brow at the disheveled mess of an older brother who walked into the dining room. His long brown hair was uncombed and his white button down sat half-opened and stained with colors of olive, pink and red makeup. “Mom, Pops, how do you do?” and he leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek and sat down beside her.

 

Lucrezia silently grimaced over her oatmeal and fruit.

 

“Fine, Juan,” his father briefly glanced up from the newspaper only to double-take at his eldest son’s state of dress. “And...how are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Yes, dear,” Vanozza added as a maid set a tray of food in front of Juan. “How are you doing? When did you get in?”

 

“Pretty late,” Juan lazily draped a cloth napkin over his lap and began cutting at the sausage on his plate. “Just hanging out with some friends.”

 

Cesare raised an eyebrow again. He knew what that meant. Most likely, his brother scattered a collective $500 in various G-strings across New York City. “You look like shit,” he told him.

 

“Language!” Vanozza hissed.

 

“Whatever. Don’t start, Chez, it’s too early.”

 

“Do tell, Juan,” Lucrezia paused from her breakfast. “Which friends? Mindy? Sasha? Candy?”

 

Under lowered lids, Cesare reached for Lucrezia’s knee under the table, a sign to stop provoking their eldest brother.

 

But as if fate decided to be cruel, the cell phone in Lucrezia’s pocket began to buzz.

 

“And what did I say about phones at the table?” Vanozza hissed again. “Honestly, you kids--.”

 

“And which friend is that?” Juan barked. “Paolo, that damn bum?”

 

Cesare looked to Lucrezia. She sat silently, eyes wide in mortification and death to the eldest brother.

 

This time, Rodrigo put the newspaper down to the table. “Paolo? Who’s Paolo?”

 

“No one,” she tried to salvage.

 

“Some poor ass kid she was making out with in her dorm a few weeks ago,” Juan informed their parents.

 

“Oh, Lucrezia...” Rodrigo sighed, disapprovingly.

 

“It wasn’t anything, Papa,” Lucrezia continued damage control. “Not like that. He’s a nice boy, and he’s smart! He achieved a full scholarship at school--.”

 

“Scholarships are just hand outs to broke people schools feel sorry for!” Juan laughed. “Doesn’t mean much!”

 

“Quit it, Juan,” Cesare bit between clenched teeth. “You’ve said enough.”

 

“Oh, just shut the hell up!” Lucrezia jumped to her feet. “You’re trying to lecture me on morality but all you do is stick it in anything or anyone you can pay to hold still long enough!” Cesare reached a hand out to Lucrezia’s and squeezed it tightly. He silently pleaded to her to calm down, to take a deep breath.

 

Fire flamed in her steely-blue eyes as she stared at Juan. She managed to pull her eyes away to look at Cesare; within a few moments, she sat back down, squeezing his hand back.

 

Their mother shook her head quietly, drinking down the rest of her mimosa. Their father groaned, rubbing his temples with both hands. “It’s not even 9 o’clock yet. Juan, Cesare,” he lifted his hand in the air, shooing them towards the doorway, “Your mother and I need to talk to your sister. Alone, please.”

 

Both men obeyed and left the breakfast table. They passed through the dining room entrance; as soon as they were out of their parents’ view, heightened voices could be heard. They paced down the hallway little further and in one breath, Cesare pushed Juan, hard, his back hitting the wall. “Don’t,” Cesare’s dark eyes loomed closely over his brother’s face, “Don’t pull that shit again.”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s her personal business.”

 

“Don’t give me that shit,” Juan shrugged. “She’s a Borgia. Whatever she does, whoever she messes around with, is the family’s business. If she’s gonna screw with someone, at least it be someone important.”

 

The same fury in Lucrezia’s eyes manifested in Cesare’s. He dropped his voice so his words could only fall on his brother’s ears. “Don’t anger her. You mess with her, you’ll have me to deal with.”

 

Juan managed to look unfazed; he even developed a smirk on his lips. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Chez, especially when it comes to Lucy. Now if you excuse me, I have to shower.” Juan glided out of Cesare’s grasp and made his way up the stairs towards his room.

 

Cesare hung his head back. Older siblings are supposed to be mature, not the insufferable ones. Time and time again, Juan and Lucrezia are always pushing each other’s buttons, and every single time, their parents sat through it and let them hash it out. Their mother doesn’t dare to take sides, they are her babies after all. Rodrigo is always keen on listening to Juan’s side first. Lucrezia has really only one person in this family for her defense. Cesare shook his head.

 

He looked over his shoulder and saw Micheletto approaching him. “Morning, Cesare.”

 

“Hey. How was your morning?”

 

“Calmer than yours, it seems.”

 

Cesare chuckled. The whole household probably heard them. “Glad to hear that. Heading out?”

 

“Yeah. I’m going to check on some associates, make sure things are going okay. Call me if you need anything.”

 

“Alright, I will.” He watched him leave through the front door and out of sight.

 

He began to make his way up the grand staircase to his room. A part of Cesare wanted to turn around, wanted to save his little sister from a shouting contest with their father. But a part of him couldn’t handle hearing what could have possibly transpired between his angelic sister and some strange boy he knew nothing about.

 

And how did Juan know about this? Wait, didn’t he visit the campus last month...?

 

He sat down at the foot of his bed before leaning back. He respected her privacy. If she wanted to share with him, let her share on her own time.

 

His dark black and gold blackout curtains were still drawn close, voiding the room of any sunlight. He should take the time to open those...

 

But he still kept concentrating on Lucrezia being with another man. He just couldn’t stand the idea.

 

Just as he closed his eyes, a sliver of light quickly entered and exited his room. “They all drive me crazy. Juan. Papa.” She released a frustrated growl as she closed the door shut. Lucrezia invited herself on his bed, lying down beside him, their shoulders touching one another. “I mean, is it bad to meet guys and be attracted to them? It’s college, for pete’s sake!”

 

“It’s not a crime,” Cesare assured her, “but Dad has plans. He was hoping to have you attract the attention of someone rich and connected, like Giovanni Sforza.”

 

“He’s practically whoring me out. That’s all I am. A pawn. A whore.”

 

“No,” he immediately responded, turning his head to her. He hated when she belittled herself. She of all people didn’t deserve negative words. “No, you’re not any of those.”

 

“Then what? What am I?”

 

An angel, his mind replied. “Priceless, for starters. Perfection with legs. Hmm...”

 

She smiled at him, and Cesare released all the anxiety he was holding. “You’ve ruined me of all men for life. You know why?”

 

“Because I’m too wonderful?”

 

“Precisely,” she propped herself up on her elbow, her hand cradling her chin. “You’re so good to me. There’s no one on earth that could measure up to you, I think. I feel like you are always on my side and I’m never alone.”

 

He too propped himself up on one elbow to face her at eye level. “I’ll always be there for you.”

 

“I know,” she reached her free hand to his collar. He concentrated on her fingertips as they tickled the skin of his collarbone, sending delightful and warm chills down his spine. “I know,” she lowered her voice almost to the sound of a whisper, her words fanning his lips, “and I love you for it.”

 

Cesare reached his hand out to her jaw, cradling it gently in his hand as he flicked her dangle pearl drop earring with his thumb. He grinned and leaned forward, brushing her nose with his own.

 

Lucrezia erupted in a giggle and gently pushed him away before laying back down.

 

He did have plans on checking on some associates in Long Island, but that could wait, he decided. Laying here beside her was far more important to him.

\--

 

Cesare had many memories in his father’s office. He remembered how the bookshelves covered the wallspace; he didn’t even know if the walls were colored with paint or wallpaper. The grandfather clock near the french doors was always a minute or two fast. He could remember his father kicking his brother and him out of the room while he was doing ‘work’...that is, until they were old enough to understand exactly how Rodrigo could afford all the lavish gifts and food.

 

His father sat in a high back leather swivel chair behind the desk, a strong hand cradling his temple. Both sons sat facing their father in mid-back leather chairs, backs to the french doors; many times, they have sat here for meetings or if they were in trouble.

 

Based on his father’s stern expression, they were probably here for both.

 

“According to sources,” Rodrigo glanced down at a small notepad in front of him, “Giovanni Sforza died in his downtown Manhattan apartment. Alone.”

 

“Heart attack?” Juan asked, flipping the white iPhone in his hand and lap.

 

“The papers will say stroke. But we all know better...” and his eyes trailed to Cesare. Cesare swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

“At 32. So young,” Juan side-glanced to Cesare, then back to his phone.

 

“Juan, please, this is serious. Now, Giovanni may not have worked directly in the family, but he was a relative to Caterina. She’s powerful; she controls almost half of the cartels on the southern and eastern seaboard. Imagine how it would have benefitted if Lucrezia and he would have gotten along.”

 

“You could have dangle Lucrezia in his view as much as you liked, Dad,” Cesare reminded, “but he was an asshole, he talked down to her, and she knows she deserved better.”

 

“He--,” Rodrigo looked shocked. “He was mean to her?”

 

“She told me.”

 

“Of course,” Juan muttered under his breath.

 

“But she didn’t tell her own father?”

 

“How could she when you kept insisting the guy on her?”

 

Rodrigo shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter, now that he’s dead. He’s dead and our family is at risk. Caterina is probably out for our blood. Her, combined with her ally, the Della Roveres, it’s only a matter of time before she tries to connect with the other families!”

 

The Borgias. The Sforzas. The Della Roveres. The Orsinis. The Vitellis. The five families that have influence all over New York City and different parts of the country. There had been a long history of fighting for control. Who took all the major cities, like Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, or Miami? Who made connections to the drug cartels that hugged the southern border? Who had pulled enough influence to weave into the country’s government? It was a struggle that Cesare and his siblings were born into, and they each had their role to play. Much to Cesare’s disagreement.

 

“I think there may be a way to clean up this mess,” Rodrigo divulged to the men. “The Orsinis and Vitellis want to keep their stronghold over Chicago and Washington D.C., respectively. But let’s look at the other side of the tracks. What does the current deputy-chief of Chicago and captain of Washington D.C.’s finest have in common?”

 

It took a moment to realize it. Juan said it first. “They’re related.”

 

“Mm-hmm,” a smile stretched over Rodrigo’s thin lips. “If we could influence the police, they may see us as a more formidable ally than the Sforzas.”

 

“But how?” Juan asked. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Their cousin, Alfonso Aragon, Senior, is up for Commissioner in New York City. And he has a son about Lucrezia’s age, studying at NYU as well.”

 

“No,” Cesare immediately spoke up for her. “She’s not even here and you’re discussing plans that involve her.”

 

“Of course,” Juan grumbled. “Here comes Prince Cesare--.”

 

“There’s no way I’m the only one who cares about her feelings here!” Cesare leapt at her defense. “She feels like a pawn, like she’s being taken advantage of. Just a tool in a game. She wasn’t meant for this--.”

 

“Of course she was meant for this, you were all meant for this!” Rodrigo rose to his feet and circled to the window behind him. His shoulders rose and he crossed his arms, taking a deep breath. “Everyone,” he began to turn to his sons, one fist on his hip, another pointing to each son, “you and you, and she” he pointed to the air, “have a role to play. For the survival of this family, of our companions, I depend on your influence, your diplomacy, your strengths. I need her to exercise her charm to persuasion. I care for her just as much as you do, Cesare--.”

 

“Not likely,” Juan coughed.

 

Cesare sent him a death glare.

 

“--But she knows what she has to do for our family. End of story.”

 

Cesare took a deep breath, reeling in his emotions.

 

“Now,” Rodrigo sat back down in his chair, “I need the both of you to start doing a little leg work. Juan, I need you to go to Washington and establish some new connections there.  And Cesare, I need you to speak with your associates on Wall Street. Our goal is to get the other families and any other influence we can get on our side.”

 

The sons nodded in agreement.

 

“We cannot relax, even for a moment.”

 

A knock sounded on the door. Vanozza opened the door, dressed in a burgundy knee-length pencil dress and her hair up in a twist. “Dearest, the plane is ready to leave when you are.”

 

“Ah!” Rodrigo stood from his chair. “Time to pick Jeofre up. Behave. And Juan, safe travels. I will see you in a few days.” He gave his eldest son a firm pat on the back and left with Vanozza.

 

As soon as they were out of sight, Juan stood. “Time for me to go.”

 

“Have a good time,” Cesare said emptily.

 

“I will,” Juan kept smiling as he took large strides out of the room.

 

As Cesare sat alone in his room, he leaned his head back. Did he really make a mistake by killing Giovanni Sforza? After all, if he were still alive, they wouldn’t have to work hard at trying to tie the other families to them. They always had a mutual agreement to stay out of each other’s way.

 

That was, until he decided to shoot a bullet through the man’s chest, changing the balance. Of course Giovanni deserved it, but now with the Sforza and Della Rovere clans breathing down their necks, and the Orsinis and Vitellis not too far off, Cesare was beginning to have a moment of self-doubt.

 

Then, an image of his sister, furious, telling Cesare that the man spat cruel things to her like “Ugly Bitch”, “Slut”, and “Your father is just whoring his daughter to me so he’ll fall in my family’s good graces...”

 

And then the smile on her face when she visited his room that night after he had shot him.

 

Damn them all, she was worth it. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Note: I don’t know anything about economics... And yes, that is Ascanio Sforza, but I changed his alliance. And Machiavelli’s office / Medici offices’ location, I believe, is the Bank of America building.

 

Part 2

 

He reviewed his own reflection in the steel elevator doors. He straightened the burgundy tie of his charcoal suit, and smoothed the tie over his shirt. The gold tie clip, decorated with a scripted ‘B’, gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

 

The elevator opened its doors to the 20th floor. He stepped out and immediately turned to the right, towards the eastern part of the building. He quickly walked by offices and cubicles, square glass prisons taking over the floor space. He stopped in front of a receptionist and smiled cordially at her. “Hello. I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

 

The receptionist glanced at the agenda in front of her. “Yes... Give me a moment and I will let him know you’re here.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

She picked up the phone to connect to another line. “Sir, your 11am is here. Mm-hm. Alright.” She hung up the phone and turned to Cesare. “Go right ahead, Mr. Borgia,” and she gestured towards the doors behind her.

 

Cesare headed to the frosted glass doors and pushed them open. The corner office space looked over Bryant Park in the middle of midtown Manhattan, urban rooftops and skyscrapers in view. Office furniture decorated the space, complete with banker green leather and cherry wood chairs and chaise lounges. A tall man, a pointed face framing a pointed nose, dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, approached Cesare, with a hand extended. “Mr. Borgia, pleasure to see you.”

 

“And you, as well.”

 

“Please, please, sit.” The man circled to his desk and Cesare sat in a chair before him, unbuttoning his single button blazer in the process. Cesare glanced at the scarce decor decorating his desk. Only a thin flat screen, a keyboard, a single legal-size ledger, one cup with two pens inside, and a desk name plate printed on gold backing: Niccolo Machiavelli. “So, Mr. Borgia, what brings you here?”

 

“I’m here to pick your brain. Get a little advice, perhaps.”

 

“Ah, yes,” the thin-faced man stroked his chin. “Word has spread that the Sforzas are targeting you, Cesare Borgia. However, I nor my employer show any favoritism to any one person in particular. But what would make you think I would give you advice?”

 

“The fact that the Della Roveres have tried to screw your employer over before,” Cesare smirked. “And of course, Caterina Sforza’s husband.”

 

“Yes,” Niccolo chuckled, “With that being said, what do you need?”

 

“The Della Roveres and the Sforzas are out to get my family,” Cesare explained. “I need to make sure the other families stay out of their circle.”

 

Niccolo could not keep the amused expression off his face as he tapped his fingers on the desktop. “My my, how very interesting. You couldn’t possibly be asking for my inside information, are you?”

 

“Of course not,” Cesare played along, “I’m asking for... financial advice.”

 

Niccolo nodded. “Did you know my employer is invested in the largest pharmaceutical company in the country?” He paused for effect, and then continued. “Mr. Medici dapples in everything. Not only is he invested in Bane Pharm, but Ludivico Orsini is too, although not as much. Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but Bane Pharm is buying out another company, Castle Meds. A smaller company based out here on the east coast. Have any idea on who their highest profile investors are?”

 

Cesare couldn’t hide the small forming on his face. “When will the merger be announced?”

 

“In 45 hours.”

 

“And how much are each invested?”

 

“Mr. Medici is the highest one, with 20%. The Orsinis and Vitellis, I hear, are playing it safe until they see where their shares plateau at before they buy some more.”

 

“Interesting...” A lightbulb lit in Cesare’s mind. He had to act fast, and discreet, making sure no one, absolutely no one knew what they were up to before it was too late. “Thank you, Mr. Machiavelli,” Cesare stood, buttoned his blazer and held out his hand, “Thank you for the...insight.”

 

“My deepest pleasure,” Niccolo stood at his feet and shook his hand. “I’ll walk you out.”

 

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Cesare insisted.

 

“Well then, I hope you have a prosperous week.”

\--

 

**Can you pick me up? I finished early at Giulia’s studio.**

 

As soon as Cesare read the text message, he looked up to the driver in front of him. “Go to 5th and 19th.” The driver obliged, driving into the Fashion District.

 

The Rolls Royce pulled up to a large loft space, a three story building of red brick and steel. The structure was labeled with a steel sign in blue and gold, with the name “G Farnese” superimposed on a vector image of a unicorn. He texted his sister of his arrival.

 

While he waited, he scrolled through his phone, briefly reading over the news headlines of the day: The Pope’s visit to Latin America, a filibuster about state reforms in some of the Southern states, Princess of Denmark going into labor...

 

The right side rear door opened. Cesare turned with a smile, expecting to see the same smile returned. However, as soon as Lucrezia closed the door, she threw her purse and Farnese box to the floor of the car, crossed her arms and looked out the window.

 

He knew that look. “Head home,” Cesare instructed the chauffeur. The car started and the pair were on their way.

 

Cesare watched with careful eyes the frustration manifesting out of his sister’s body. How she glared at the outside streets, how her shaking fingers brushed her lips, how her eyes would pool with tears, but never wanting to shed a single drop. He reached for her hand and held it firmly.

 

“I talked to Papa.”

 

“Just now?”

 

“Mm-hm. On the phone.” She inhaled sharply through her teeth, filling her chest with air for a few moments before she exhaled. “He told me of what he wants to do with Aragon’s son. I mean, come on, can’t Papa just give it a rest?”

 

“What did he say to you?”

 

“I told him that I’m an adult and I want my own life! And he--he,” she huffed, “he told me that I’m a Borgia and I do what the family wants. It’s just--.” Lucrezia seized talking and just leaned slightly to the right, partially covering her face with her right hand.

 

Cesare furrowed his eyes, holding his sister’s hand tighter. He looked on her with a heavy heart; he always hated to see her so down and frustrated.

 

“What if this new guy is just as pigheaded and disgusting as the last? Does Papa even care?”

 

“Come here,” Cesare said softly. He pulled Lucrezia to him and embraced her, his fingers stroking her right shoulder and arm. He could feel her take in a few deep breaths as she rested her head on his chest, trying to control her emotions, trying to force herself from crying.

 

“Sometimes,” she started, as the car drove through the city, “Sometimes I wonder what’s going on with him. Does he care at all? Like, with college. I had to fight tooth and nail to live in the dorms. And now he’s telling me who to date, who to pursue for the good of the family? It’s... tiring.” Lucrezia pulled away just enough so she could have full view of his face. “Don’t get me wrong. I love you--.”

 

Cesare’s heart bumped harder.

 

“I love our brothers, even though Juan can drive anyone crazy. I love Mama and Papa, but I wonder sometimes what if I wasn’t a Borgia. I could travel to all the places I’ve studied; I’ve always wanted to see Rome...” she placed a hand on his knee and her eyes fell downcast. “But the way Papa treats me... treats us... I think he cares more about ambition than love.”

 

Cesare’s eyes turned to the hand on his knee. He could sympathize. He felt that almost everyday, that dread of watching his back, watching over his underlings, making sure any plans his father had went through without a hitch; otherwise the consequences would be dire. It would be nice to get away from New York, the country even, and be someone he wasn’t... “Father’s ambition is to rise so we don’t have to sleep with one eye open. If you control New York, you’re one step closer to controlling the country.” It was a mantra, a persuasion device he recited to himself often when he just wanted to empty out his pistol’s magazine in his bedroom.

 

“But at what cost? This family lives solely for ambition, it seems. It’s... heartbreaking almost, that I just have to settle for that. Is it bad to do something I want? To want fun and happiness?” her fingertips dug into his knee, her eyes to the floor, “That’s just it, isn’t it? I have to live with the fact that I won’t live a happy life--.”

 

“No,” Cesare reached for her face, cradling it in his palm. He angled her head so that her eyes looked to him and only him. “I will make you happy,” he declared to her, “I promise.”

 

“Can you?”

 

“Yes,” he said firmly without doubt.

 

Lucrezia’s continued to look into his eyes with a curious expression on her face, as if she was trying to examine what he had just said, and if he was truly genuine. And he was, he firmly believed it. If he could prove it, he would go to Hell and back; all she had to do was ask. She didn’t say anything after that. She just rested her head on his chest the whole ride home.

\--

 

When they arrived at the mansion, Cesare walked Lucrezia to the entrance foyer, with the chauffeur close behind, holding her things. “Please escort her to her room,” he instructed. “I’ll see you later, I need to talk to Dad.”

 

She nodded slowly.

 

He pulled her to him, his arms around her shoulders, and placed a kiss on her brow. Cesare paused for a breath, then stepped away, leaving for his father’s office on the other side of the mansion. He knocked on the french doors that led to his office; he waited for his father’s voice to tell him to enter. When Cesare opened the door, he realized Rodrigo wasn’t alone. His young brother was sitting on the chair Juan occupied earlier, while their father sat at the edge of the desk. “You’ve been without one long enough,” Rodrigo double-checked the safety of the semi-automatic pistol in hand and gave it to his youngest son.

 

“Thanks, Dad,” Jeofre grasped it tightly and carefully placed it in the new holster he wore around his midsection.

 

It was a sight he wasn’t quite used to yet; his youngest sibling, only 18 years old, possessing a gun. And he just got out of high school yesterday. Cesare hid his frown from his father.

 

“So, Cesare,” Rodrigo held his hand out to the other chair, inviting his son to sit down. “Cesare, how are things progressing so far?”

 

“I spoke with someone in downtown,” Cesare started as he sat down. “I heard some very interesting news...” He disclosed the information he heard from Machiavelli. Of the upcoming merger that was on the horizon. Of the families involved in the merging companies. How even with that upcoming merger, there wasn’t one dominant shareholder.

 

Not yet, at least.

 

Jeofre looked in between his older brother and his father. Just as Cesare anticipated, a thin smile curled on his father’s thin lips. “That!” he grabbed the man by the shoulder and held it firmly with affection, “That is very good news to hear! And!” Rodrigo pivoted around his desk and picked up the cell phone sitting behind him. “And if Juan is successful, that is even greater news!” He scrolled through his contacts and found the name he was looking for. “Ah, Ascanio! Come by my office tomorrow. Early. I think it’s time I think outside the box and venture in new investments.”

 

Just then, Cesare heard a soft chime; his incoming text message. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and read it carefully:

 

**Need to talk when you can.**

 

“Excuse me, Dad,” Cesare stood and took large strides out the door. When he entered the hallway, he saw Micheletto only a few feet away from Rodrigo’s office. Cesare approached him in a lowered voice. “What’s up?”

 

“I just got a call from my contact in Miami,” Micheletto said with an equally lowered voice. “Caterina Sforza has chartered her private jet to leave for New York tonight.”

 

“Makes sense; her cousin’s funeral is in two days.”

 

“And after that, the itinerary is set for Washington D.C., then Chicago.”

 

Cesare’s eyebrows rose. “Really?” She works fast, he mused. So, she was planning to go pay a visit to the Orsinis and Vitellis? Why? Some of the family members will most likely be attending the funeral; even the Borgia family was going to make an appearance. She could talk to the family members then. Unless, she was planning to gain an audience with the Dons of each family face to face in their own cities? Oh, she was a clever one...

 

Cesare gave Micheletto a firm hand to his back and flashed him a smirk. “If she wants to work fast, we can work faster.”


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Can you tell where the upcoming C/L scene comes from? Haha. 

 

Part 3

 

Cesare could not shake that feeling of uncertainty off his chest.

 

It started earlier that day during breakfast. Juan was still out of town, but the rest of the family gathered in the dining room as usual, having a quiet meal, discussing casual topics of conversation: the weather, news headlines, what should they request the cooks make for dinner...

 

But Cesare couldn’t help but notice how his sister would steal glances at him every chance she could. He knew there wasn’t anything on his face, she would have told him. What was she thinking? What was turning the gears in her pretty little head?

 

After breakfast, he had spent the rest of his morning and lunch in his father’s office, with Micheletto, Jeofre, Rodrigo and Ascanio, his father’s advisor. They discussed the plans of the shares buy-out, trying to also plot out and predict the other families’ moves.

 

Near the end of their meeting, Cesare received a text message.

 

**I need your opinion. Can u get to my room when you have the chance?**

 

**2 minutes** he responded.

 

Cesare looked up to his father. “Is there anything else you need, Dad?”

 

“No, go ahead,” Rodrigo waved his hand and continued his conversation with Ascanio, while Jeofre just listened in quietly.

 

Both Cesare and Micheletto exited the office. As soon as Cesare closed the door behind him, he turned to his friend. “Talk to your contacts at the airport and all over town. I want eyes on Caterina wherever she goes and whatever she does. Whether she’s visiting family, shopping, getting a goddamn pizza... I want to know where she is at all times.”

 

Micheletto nodded his head and left Cesare alone in the hallways. When he was out of sight, Cesare took the opportunity to answer his sister’s request. He walked up the stairs, through the hallway and stopped at the second door on the left, just opposite his own room. He knocked.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“It’s Cesare,” he called through the door.

 

“You mean my adoring brother?”

 

He chuckled. “One in the same.”

 

“Come in.”

 

Cesare turned the knob and pushed the door open. Light pooled in through the sheer curtains, illuminating her room of white and gold. Her four-post canopy sat against the wall, draped in gold and ivory silk. There were a few dresses of different colors spread out haphazardly at the foot of the bed, while she held two gold colored dresses in hand, hanging on their respective hangers. But all Cesare could see was Lucrezia standing in front of a mirror, wearing a white lace bralette and matching underwear. “Oh shi--,” he gulped, “Sorry, I--.”

 

“Come closer, help me pick a dress,” Lucrezia turned from the mirror and laid both dresses down on the foot of the bed over all the other ones.

 

What...what was going on? Cesare took a moment to look behind him in the hallway, making sure no one was spying (which was odd, seeing as he went into her room many times before without a problem), and closed the door behind him when the coast was clear. He kept his eyes to the door, composed himself, took a deep breath and turned slowly.

 

“Giulia is throwing a party for her firm. They’re the same color, but I don’t know if I should wear knee-length or a high-low hem.” Lucrezia stood tall, one hand to her hip, the other hand hooked at the crook of her neck. To the right, a white knee-length dress with gold embroidery and a low V neckline. To the left, a strapless solid gold dress with an ankle-length train.

 

He tried his hardest not to stare at her formed cleavage, and her nipples peeking from under the lace material. He knew he shouldn’t be here... “I... I--I should... I should leave...”

 

“Why?” she pivoted on the balls of her feet and turned back to the mirror. Not only were her breasts in view because of the mirror, but her lace underwear only covered half of her buttocks, revealing how perfectly round her behind was... “Am I ugly to look at, Cesare?”

 

“I’ll cut out the tongue of anyone who says that and force feed it to them.” He looked down to the floor to keep his concentration level as high as possible.

 

Lucrezia smiled at him through the looking glass. “Well, it must be something then. Like maybe I have cankles. Or my hips are too wide. Maybe my knees are too knobby.”

 

“You’re-- you’re perfect. Knees included.”

 

“Come here and see for yourself,” she requested, taking a step closer to him.

 

Cesare took a deep breath and put his hands in his pockets. Perhaps he should sit down; he may make the situation less embarrassing. With his hands still in his pocket, Cesare took wide strides to the side of her bed and sat down. As he moved, she braced a hand to the post closest to him and swung so she was standing fully before him.

 

Keeping his eyes below thigh level would probably be safe for him, he told himself. His eyes followed the curves of her leg, how the smooth skin rolled over her taut muscles in perfect lines, knees, ankles and even down to her french manicured toes. His eyes caught sight of an ankle bracelet, a very thin gold chain, adorning her left ankle. “They’re... they’re perfect,” he breathed. He found the strength to pull his gaze to her face. “What’s going on, Lucrezia?”

 

Her pink lips formed a frown. “I met Alfonso today. I ‘ran’ into him.”

 

Watched and pounced, Cesare thought.

 

“And surprisingly, he seemed like a nice guy. He was sweet, chivalrous, even liked silly, corny jokes.”

 

A twinge of green peaked in Cesare’s chest.

 

“But when he finally asked for my name and I told him, he couldn’t have left any faster. The ‘Sorry, I gotta go’, excuse. And when I told Father what happened, he, well, he said I simply wasn’t trying hard enough.” She sighed and took a few more steps forward until she could touch him. He was careful to stay still as she stepped up to him, stepping in between his stance, her knees straddling one of his legs. “Again, not good enough.”

 

“It just... takes time,” he said, keeping his hands in his pockets. “This Alfonso kid is probably a sheltered boy, or he knows to stay away from mafia names because Daddy told him so. You just need a little more time to attract him.”

 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Am I even desirable?”

 

“That’s crazy,” he could barely find the strength under her presence, under her stare. “Of course you are.”

 

“Am I?” Lucrezia combed her hand through his hair, sending chills down his whole body. Her hands continued to caress his jawline, until her fingertips feathered the tip of his chin. “I see it, you know,” she sat beside him on the bed until their bodies were almost flush to one another. “The way you look at me.”

 

Okay, this was not where he expected the conversation to go. Weren’t they talking about the Aragon kid a few moments ago?

 

“You look but you don’t touch.”

 

Of course he shouldn’t. Social taboo, for starters. And their parents’ fury. Hellfire.

 

Cesare knew this was wrong, sitting here with her, tiptoeing closer to a taboo line. But she was so beautiful, she smelled so good, she looked so damn amazing now and above all else, he loved her.

 

With their foreheads pressed together, they were only a single breath away from one another. Their lips brushed like they did that other night when he killed Giovanni, like other nights before when she would just lay in his embrace when they were reading, watching TV, something, anything. ‘At last.’ He wasn’t sure if he kept his thoughts to himself or he said it out loud, it didn’t matter. Cesare inhaled and the tips of their lips touched, ready to taste his heaven.

 

Her cell phone rang.

 

He involuntarily let out a deep groan from his throat. She held back a laugh and turned, reaching for her cell phone under the pile of dresses. “That’s probably Giulia, wondering what I’m going to wear.”

 

“Mm-hm...” was all he could muster. “I’ll let you... then...” he stood and sped-walk to her door. He quickly opened it and turned, catching one last look of her smiling at him as she talked on the phone, before closing the door.

 

Cesare took a deep breath. Oh man...

\---

 

“So, Bro, I hear you’ve been productive.”

 

“Define productive?” Cesare asked his older brother.

 

Juan had just arrived from the airport a few hours ago, back from his trip to Washington D.C. They gathered at the dining table for dinner; Rodrigo in the front, Vanozza to his right, Juan beside her, Jeofre beside Juan, and Cesare across from Juan. Lucrezia’s empty chair sat between Rodrigo and Cesare. The butlers already distributed their meals; a delicious piece of fish set over mixed vegetable and quinoa, paired with a white wine of Vanozza’s choosing.

 

Cesare’s eyes trailed to the empty chair beside him.

 

“You got some inside info about some investing the family should look at, right?”

 

“Oh no,” Rodrigo pursed his lips together and smiled, “not inside information. Just friendly advice. But what about you? What of your friends in D.C.?”

 

“Weeeellll,” Juan shrugged as they ate, “I met up with my old friends. Met a new friend. Maria.”

 

“Oh my,” Vanozza sipped her wine, “Maria? A personal friend or professional friend?”

 

“Professional, mostly. But she’s very good on the eyes, so that helps a lot,” Juan admitted, and nudged Jeofre, whispering something to him. The youngest Borgia held his lips tight, trying his best to hide his laugh. “Who knows, it might be a little of both.”

 

“You went to D.C. to find some new tail?” Cesare arched an eyebrow.

 

“Not just any tail,” Juan insisted. “I’m talking about high caliber tail. Best quality tail. Because her dad is William Richards.”

 

Everyone at the dining table looked shocked. “Really?” Rodrigo asked. “William Richards, Speaker of the House?”

 

“The very one,” Juan smiled triumphantly. “I met her at a party one of my associates was holding and we hit it off no problem.”

 

“I’m impressed,” Cesare admitted. He knew Juan had managed to maintain connections with different Congressmen and women (how, he had a vague idea but didn’t want to hear all the gritty details), but now he was playing in a whole new field. “Are you going back soon?”

 

“In a few days. Maria’s family is hosting this charity thing for MS or something... don’t remember, but I’m going. You know, to show my dedication to her or whatever.”

 

“Of course,” Cesare responded.

 

“Be careful with this one,” Vanozza warned her eldest son. “This is the daughter of a very powerful man. He may or may not know about who you really are.”

 

“But isn’t that the best part of it?” Juan laughed. “To the rest of the world, we are just made of old money. Cesare is Pops’ financial advisor and I’m just a...lobbyist. Kinda. No harm in that.”

 

“Still,” Vanozza continued.

 

“Juan knows what he’s doing, he knows what he wants,” Rodrigo smiled proudly. “Excellent, excellent work. Not what I was originally thinking, but even better! Now, all we need is Lucrezia to do her job and everything will work out. Where is she anyway?”

 

“Out at a party,” Vanozza answered. “Giulia Farnese is hosting a party at her studio.”

 

“A fashion party?” Juan looked intrigued. “Fashion parties mean models. And we weren’t invited? I thought Lucrezia loved us.”

 

“But what about your new girlfriend in D.C.?” Jeofre asked.

 

“That’s why a man has to be discreet,” Juan answered his little brother.

 

“You’re really trying to corrupt him already?” Cesare bit.

 

“You know, Jeofre,” Juan turned to the youngest, ignoring Cesare’s comment, “next time if you can, go to one of Giulia’s fashion parties. Most of the models there are kind of hot. Yeah, some of them have messed up teeth, but they have some really nice--.”

 

Cesare shook his head, trying to continue his dinner. He wasn’t sure what dress his sister decided to wear that night, and frankly, it didn’t really matter. All he could see was the image of his sister, barely dressed in angelic white lace, seared in his mind.

\--

 

That Saturday in Northern Bronx was a particularly crisp one. Lines of limousines, SUVs and long sedans were parked close by, dropping off their passengers as close as possible to the assigned plot. Crowds of people gathered to the closed casket, decorated with roses and wreaths of lush greenery.

 

Micheletto was first to disembark the Escalade, followed by Cesare, then Juan. In the SUV behind them, the rest of the family emerged: Leonardo, his father’s personal guard, Lucrezia, Jeofre, Vanozza and finally Rodrigo. Micheletto and Leonardo walked in front of the family, while another set of guards followed. They made their way to the chairs set out for onlookers; Vanozza on Rodrigo’s arm, Lucrezia on Jeofre’s.

 

When Cesare looked forward to her, Lucrezia’s head was tilted slightly in his direction; he was in her peripheral view. She turned away and looked forward.

 

They joined the crowd around Giovanni Sforza’s casket and Cesare looked around the crowd. In front were the other Sforza members, including Caterina herself. Close by were the Della Roveres, including Giuliano, the head of the family. Dotting through the sea of faces were members of the other families, various cousins, uncles, henchmen and associates alike to represent the Orsinis and Vitellis. Everyone was wearing the appropriate somber face... Did anyone really care that he died?, Cesare mused.

 

Cesare caught sight of Niccolo Machiavelli, who simply gave him a look of acknowledgement.

 

The burial was relatively quick. No one had any memories to share, anecdotes to provide. Cesare wasn’t surprised; he always thought the man as a disgusting human. The casket was quietly lowered into the ground, family members threw roses into the gaping earth and that was all. Attendees began to disperse, heading back to their cars and continued with their normal lives.

 

In the crowd, Cesare heard a single voice. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Borgia. And your family.”

 

Cesare turned. The older woman stood before him, dressed in a floor-length dress, and a dark grey pashmina around her shoulders, her long dark auburn hair gathered in a braided updo. “We’re just here to pay our respects to you and your family. Our sympathies are with you all.”

 

“Hmm,” Caterina smirked at her. “Your sympathies, as you can guess, mean nothing. A bullet to your brain will suffice, however.”

 

Cesare’s eyes narrowed. He started to mentally analyze the situation. She didn’t looked armed, but she most likely had something on her. His gun sat in his holster against his chest. How quick could he grab it if she drew a weapon? He could also feel Micheletto standing right behind his shoulder, ready to strike if necessary.

 

“Tell me, Mr. Cesare Borgia, why do you think the police have not come knocking at your family’s door?”

 

Because Micheletto and he left no sight unturned, nothing to raise suspicion in their direction, he told himself. He even found out where Giovanni’s security cameras were to make sure his car wasn’t in view.

 

“Because I want the pleasure of bringing you down myself. And not just bringing you down, but destroying your whole family until there is nothing left.”

 

Cesare took a deep breath and kept his shoulders steady. His stomach knotted and his jaw clench as he continued to stare at this woman. Was there really a danger to her words? Or were they just words, and nothing she could follow through with? He didn’t like the idea of risking it, especially if it would put his family in distress. “You won’t have a chance,” he warned her.

 

All Caterina did was continue her smile, and accompanied it with a deep sigh. “It was a nice day. A nice day to say goodbye to family.” She took a step forward and began to walk away, her entourage following close behind. Caterina passed by the rest of the Borgia clan, who were stopped in their tracks as they witnessed what transpired between her and their kinsman. She gave a glance to Rodrigo, nothing more, and walked away to her waiting limousine. 


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Economics, again, not my forte. I was a Nutrition major...

 

Part 4

 

Morning at the Borgia mansion turned out just as they planned. After an early breakfast, Rodrigo and his sons joined together in his office and turned on the TV. Rodrigo sat in his usual place behind the desk, while the eldest and youngest son sat on the chairs before him. Cesare stood, partially leaning against Jeofre’s chair.

 

“So, when will we know that shit hit the fan?” Juan asked with a bit of suppressed glee.

 

“It already has,” Rodrigo assured. “The market opens up today, and the numbers will come in. It’s only a matter of time before they see who the new majority shareholder of Bane Pharm is.” He shared the same glee with his son as a smile formed on his face.

 

“So, you own a major part of the shares, right, Dad?” Jeofre asked. “Is there any chance the others will see what’s happened and buy more, overpowering us?”

 

“Only if the public and the companies’ sells their shares, which is doubtful, considering the merged shares are now worth more than before,” Cesare answered. “And the only other option is if the most neutral of the bunch, Medici, sells his stocks. But that’s also doubtful; the man knows a good investment.”

 

Jeofre nodded. “I feel as if I have to write all this down...”

 

Juan just laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn it all eventually. Just stick close to us, Jeof, and you’ll pick everything up quick.”

 

Cesare felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

 

**Machiavelli, N.**

 

Cesare excused himself from the room and entered the hallway, closing the doors behind him. “Hello?”

 

“Mr. Borgia, good morning. I trust the day is starting out nicely for your family.”

 

“It’s pretty good so far,” Cesare answered. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Well, I’m calling to see if you can do my employer a favor. There are some...articles, if you will, that he would like to take off his hands. You would probably be interested.”

 

Why was Niccolo sounding so cryptic? “Alright.”

 

“Come by my office tomorrow, 10 o’clock AM. And bring your checkbook. Have a nice day.” The line went dead.

 

So, Medici wanted to sell something? But what...? He turned back to the door.

 

“Cesare.”

 

He turned around and saw Lucrezia walking up to him. He hadn’t had a chance to spend time with her recently, now that he thought about it. With the plans he was making for Rodrigo, plus the interaction in her bedroom the other day... He felt he was avoiding her, at least, unintentionally. “What’s up?”

 

“Are you busy tonight?”

 

“No.”

 

“Can you accompany to the Black and Blue Gala then?”

 

The Black and Blue Gala was the annual charity event in town for the New York City Police Department. None of the Borgia family members have ever attended the party before, so why did she bring it up? Unless... “Why do you want to go? For Alfonso?”

 

“Mm-hm,” she nodded. “He asked me if I was going but I told him I wasn’t sure. I don’t have him in the palm of my hand quite yet, but the fact that he asked me if I was going, that’s a start, right? I think in just a little more time, and we’ll hit it off great.”

 

A spark of green ignited in Cesare’s chest again. “I see.”

 

“Micheletto should come, too. I assume you’d want him to come, since we’ll be surrounded by cops.”

 

“I’ll let him know then.”

 

“Good,” she reached for his hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Party starts at 8pm. We’ll leave here at 7:10, maybe.”

 

“Are you sure? You take four hours to get ready,” Cesare teased with a smile.

 

Lucrezia scrunched her nose tightly and pinched his shoulder. She then turned on the balls of her feet and laughed, letting the sound echo through the hall. “Don’t forget to bring your checkbook!”

 

That was the second time he heard that this morning. What was going on? He just shrugged. An evening surrounded by police. This would prove to be interesting, Cesare mused.

\--

 

Cesare scrutinized himself in the mirror one last time. He made sure his collar was perfectly folded, that his tie was straight and his cuffs were angled correctly. Cesare sat down at the foot of the bed and bent down to pick up his right shoe. He turned it over so the bottom was facing up. He pushed the back of the heel in towards the shoe and a back portion of the heel, about an inch and a half in length, popped out, revealing the ceramic blade concealed in the shoe. He pushed the blade back in, and it sat flush to the rest of the shoe, as if it wasn’t even there. He tied both shoes on and headed to his bedroom door.

 

As soon as he exited his bedroom door, the door across from his opened at the same time. Lucrezia emerged from her room, wearing a dark, figure-hugging navy one-shoulder sequin dress that touched the floor. Her wavy blonde hair was pulled up loosely, a few tendrils framing her face. She smiled at him from across the hall.

 

Cesare took a deep breath. “You look...perfect,” was all he could muster.

 

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She adjusted a fur wrap around her shoulders and closed the door behind her.

 

Cesare stepped forward and offered his arm to her; she obliged with a smile. They made their way down the stairs slowly; Micheletto was waiting at the foot of the steps, ready in a black suit and bowtie.

 

“I’m a pretty lucky girl,” Lucrezia laughed and linked one arm around Micheletto’s, keeping her other around Cesare’s. “I have the company of two good-looking, well-dressed men tonight.” They left the house, boarded the black Rolls Royce sitting outside, and headed out into town.

\--

 

The ballroom was lit with ambient lighting of crisp blue and soft white. The floor was dotted with cocktail tables, chairs and lounge seating, candlelight, and a dance floor in the center, close to where the DJ was playing some upbeat music. Servers meandered through the crowd, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres, and serving drinks to the patrons sitting down. There must have been almost 600 celebrants, maybe more, moving in and out of the ballroom, conversing, talking, and dancing.

 

“Where is he?” Lucrezia asked out loud.

 

“Usually, the largest crowd pocket would have someone important, like the mayor or the commissioner,” Cesare whispered to her. “Find that, and he’s probably not too far away.”

 

They weaved through the crowd, with Micheletto just a step behind the pair. Close to the corner of the dance floor was a large crowd; Cesare spotted the new Commissioner in the thick of it, talking with fellow officers in full uniform regalia and their family members.

 

“There he is.” Lucrezia tiptoed and pointed to a young man not too far away. “At the bar, shiny blue tie. That’s him.”

 

The man was young, about Lucrezia’s age, maybe the same height. Curly short black hair, tanned skin, and large brown eyes, wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt and a bright blue tie, with the American flag on his lapel. He looked more like a child, innocent, smiling... Cesare frowned.

 

He quickly wiped his expression away and looked at Lucrezia. “Well, go on. Work your magic.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll introduce you later.” She released Cesare’s arm and walked over to Alfonso, joining his side at the bar. Alfonso turned, surprised to see her and gave her his brightest grin.

 

Cesare’s eyes darkened.

 

“Here.”

 

Cesare turned and saw Micheletto with two beers in hand, holding one out to him. “Thanks,” he took it and immediately drank, eyes still on his sister and her target. He could probably guess what was being said. You look stunning. Thank you, I’m glad you like it. I’m glad you came. I’m glad to see you. Thank you for your charitable donation. Of course, it’s a wonderful cause. Would you like to dance? I’d love to.

 

Cesare and Micheletto moved away from the large crowd as Alfonso took Lucrezia by the hand and guided her to the dance floor. He took another swig and let it pool in his cheeks before swallowing the drink. With the upbeat music, Alfonso immediately charmed her by dancing like John Travolta in the movie Pulp Fiction, which automatically earned a laugh from Lucrezia’s red lips. Cesare exhaled heavily through his nose.

 

“So...” Micheletto lowered his voice so that only Cesare could hear him amongst the chatter and music, “Caterina left town this morning.”

 

“Mm,” Cesare replied, half-paying attention.

 

“Apparently, she tried to have a meeting with Mr. Medici, but he was ‘indisposed’,” Micheletto took a sip from his own bottle.

 

“Considering her husband sent his younger son to prison, I’m not surprised,” Cesare watched Alfonso pull Lucrezia to him for a slow dance. “Her plane left for Washington D.C.?”

 

“Yup. Right before lunch.”

 

“Hopefully, whatever happens in D.C. won’t disappoint her too much,” Cesare mocked as he held the spout of the beer over his lips. “It would be a shame for her to have wasted her time. When does she leave for Chicago?”

 

“Supposedly the next day. Maybe the day after.” Micheletto looked over to his boss. “Between the two, do you think she’ll succeed with one or both of them?”

 

“Hard to say. The Medicis, who insist they’re a neutral party, hate the Della Roveres. The daughter of Orsini is married to Mr. Medici, but the Orsinis don’t have any personal beef between the Sforzas or the Della Roveres. The Vitellis could go either way. We’ll see,” Cesare shrugged, “I guess we’ll know after they look at their portfolios.”

 

Lucrezia whispered something in Alfonso’s ear, causing him to blush and grin like an idiot. Cesare fought the urge to punch something.

 

As the music stopped and started another tune, Lucrezia scanned the room. Once she caught sight of Cesare and Micheletto standing against the wall like wallflowers, she took Alfonso’s hand and pulled him in their direction. Cesare took a deep breath. Remember, he said, you are a caring brother, not one with peculiar taboo feelings for your sister.

 

“Cesare, Micheletto,” Lucrezia turned to Alfonso, “this is Alfonso Aragon, the son of Commissioner Aragon. Alfonso,” she turned to each man respectively, “this is Cesare, my brother, and Micheletto, our good friend.”

 

“Pleased to meet you both,” Alfonso smiled and shook each man’s hand.

 

“Likewise,” Cesare made it a point to hold his hand tighter than usual. “So, Alfonso, how old are you?”

 

“Nineteen.”

 

“You go to school?”

 

“Yeah, at NYU, majoring in Anthropology and Linguistics. I actually ran into Lucrezia there.”

 

“That’s interesting,” Cesare faked small talk. Lucrezia looked at him curiously, but he chose to ignore her look. “Tell me, where do we go to make our donations?”

 

“Oh, over in the front, near the coat check,” Alfonso pointed to the front doors of the ballroom.

 

“Thanks,” Cesare looked over to the entrance, “I’d like to turn something in before I completely forget. Hope to see you around more.”

 

“Yeah, likewise.”

 

Cesare took a step away from the crowd but noticed Micheletto ready to follow him. “Watch her.” Micheletto nodded to his whispered instructions and returned to his place against the wall as Cesare left the ballroom, taking another long sip of his beer.

 

Seeing her laugh with him, seeing her arm looped in his, Cesare’s head was spinning with colors of greens, reds and yellows. Waves of emotion hit him hard like a tsunami. Jealousy, fury... and a strange, dark desire to pull out his knife. He just had to get out of there.

\--

 

The drive back to Long Island was a quiet one. Micheletto sat on the bench seat against the driver’s cabin facing the Borgia siblings, while they sat wide apart, Cesare to the right, Lucrezia to the left. Each stayed quiet, looking out the window, watching the streetlights pass their view.

 

They were dropped off at the front door by the chauffeur. Micheletto, Lucrezia, and Cesare all entered the mansion; the faint sound of Rodrigo’s office grandfather clock chimed 1 o’clock. The hallways and foyer was dark by now. Most of the house employees were asleep and only left a few light sconces on for the late arrivals. “Good night, Micheletto,” Lucrezia said to their companion. “Thanks for coming.”

 

“My pleasure. Good night, Miss Lucrezia. Cesare.”

 

“G’night,” Cesare covered his mouth with a yawn and watched his friend leave towards the West Wing. Without a word, he slowly walked up the stairs; Lucrezia only a step behind.

 

“Is something wrong, Cesare?” she asked when they reached the top of the steps.

 

“No,” he lied, “just tired.”

 

“Don’t,” she warned. “We never hid anything from each other; why start now?” Lucrezia took his hand as they walked into the dark hallway, towards their bedrooms.

 

“I...” he looked down to their now joined hands, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. “I...don’t know where to start.”

 

Lucrezia stopped in front of her bedroom door. “What do you think of Alfonso?”

 

This was not something Cesare wanted to talk about now. He could barely contain his emotions back at the party, so why ask now, when they were alone, with no distractions? “He’s,” Cesare mustered the energy to say something nice, “He seems like a good guy. Nice, naive. I don’t know why you were so concerned, he seems to like you just fine.”

 

“I guess so,” she smiled sweetly. “But he was asking about you. After I introduced you, you left so quickly, I couldn’t find you for the rest of the night. Where did you go?”

 

“Just out. Around.”

 

“Why, what’s wrong?”

 

Cesare took a deep breath as he held her hand, his grip around her fingers tightening slightly. He looked up at her, the lights from the downstairs foyer providing just enough illumination for him to see the outlines of her face. Would it be a good idea to let it all go? To tell her what was going through his head that evening. He wasn’t even sure what that would solve, or if it would make him feel better. He exhaled slowly. “Because... it’s hard to see you. Like that.”  

 

“‘Like that?’”

 

“With him. Probably any other man.” He scoffed at himself, at his own patheticness. “But that’s inevitable.” He could feel himself get angry. At his father for insisting her to other men. For himself for being so easily affected and out of control with his own feelings.

 

She reached her hands out to him, her hands resting on his hips. She stepped close to him, looked up at him with a sad smile and asked, “That is what Papa wants. But what,” she paused, took a short breath, “What do you want?”

 

“I...” Cesare could feel his frustrations simmer and boil. “I want...” Within a breath, he didn’t think, he just reacted. He reached an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, shutting his eyes tightly and crashing his lips onto hers. Lucrezia gasped in shock, trying to find air. She pulled her head back slightly and shut her eyes but he cradled the nape of her neck, pulling her face to him, continuing the heavy kiss. She moaned into his mouth and hooked her arms around his shoulders, burying her fingertips into his dark hair. Cesare gathered her body to him with his other arm, her back arching up to him, her heels off the floor. The feeling of her fingers in his hair, her breasts pressed against his chest, her lips consuming his with matching fever... his frustrations, years of holding back and denial, finally felt a sense of relief in that darkened hallway.

 

And then it was soon followed with guilt falling on his shoulders like a 10-ton weight. He opened his eyes to see his sister, his little sister... Cesare quickly pulled her away from him, nearly planting her against her bedroom door, as he side-stepped to one side of the doorframe. Panicked, he turned around to both ends of the hall to see any traces of spying eyes.

 

He could hear her trying to catch her breath. He turned to look at her as Lucrezia pressed her fingers over her mouth, stifling a small cry. “Sorry,” he managed to apologize.

 

She took a short deep breath and then a gasp, almost sounding like a laugh.

 

“S-sorry,” he choked again and quickly turned, opened his bedroom door quickly and closed it without a look back. 


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: Rating M for Mature.

 

Notes: I drew Micheletto’s character inspiration from the Cesare manga and a little bit from The Borgias. He’s a little more outspoken, there is a little more equality, but just as bromantic. I think.

 

Part 5

 

In the five hours that passed since he kissed his sister, Cesare did not sleep. He just couldn’t. He had undressed down to his boxers, but spent the hours lying on his bed, staring at the tray ceiling above him, knowing that he was going to Hell. He figured that he already was destined there due to his past, the murder, the exploiting, but this was a guaranteed one-way ticket for sure.

 

Cesare jumped out of bed and changed into a pair of dark slacks, a clean shirt, knit scarf, and coat. As quietly as possible, he opened his bedroom door and walked down the hall. He walked down the grand stairs and towards the West Wing, into the employee dormitories, situated in a hallway near the kitchen. The West Wing was already hustling with life; the cooks were heading to the kitchen to begin preparing breakfast and the maids and butlers were getting ready to start their chores. Cesare stopped at the first door on the right side; he knocked.

 

Within a few moments, the door opened a crack. “Cesare?” Micheletto’s sleepy eyes were peering at him. “What the--?”

 

“Let’s go into town for some breakfast?” Cesare suggested.

 

“You sure? The cooks should be done in an hour.”

 

“I need to get out of the house,” he admitted.

 

Micheletto looked at him silently and then shrugged. “Alright, give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you in the downstairs garage.” He closed the door. Cesare turned to the elevator a few feet away. He entered and he descended one floor down to the underground garage. He glanced over all the cars that were parked neatly in the designated spots. After debating for a few moments, he opened up the door to the grey Lamborghini. Just as he did, Micheletto joined him in the garage, boarding the passenger’s side of the car. Cesare turned the ignition and left the mansion.

\--

 

“This coffee tastes like swill.”

 

“You usually drink cappuccinos. Why did you get black coffee then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Cesare frowned, scrunching his nose. “Guess I haven’t been thinking straight.”

 

It was early morning in New York City’s Central Park. The air was crisp, with the occasional warm breeze fluttering by them. They sat on the steps facing the Bethesda Fountain, its bronze statue of an angel floating above four other cherubs as she dispersed water. Joggers loomed by, tourists dotted the area, taking pictures, sitting at the lip of the fountain and conversing with one another.

 

Cesare took his first bite of breakfast, a simple ham and cheese croissant sandwich. It paled in comparison to the caliber of taste received at home, but he just couldn’t be home right now.

 

“So, what made you want to leave the house earlier?” Micheletto asked, eating from his own sandwich.

 

“Just needed to leave the mansion for a bit. I also have an appointment with Machiavelli at 10am.”

 

“Even though it’s barely 7am?”

 

“Traffic would have been terrible.”

 

Micheletto took another bite of his sandwich. “Whatever you say, Cesare,” he said, indirectly inviting him to talk.

 

Cesare pursed his lips together, and took another sip of his bitter coffee. “Have...” he paused for a moment, then decided to ask anyway, “Have you ever been in love, Micheletto?”

 

His employee looked surprised, and he didn’t even bother to hide it. “In love? Never really thought about it.” But he took the time to, for the sake of his employer’s query. “I don’t know if this incident was true love or anything, but there was definite heartbreak.”

 

“Uh-huh?”

 

“I was...” Micheletto recalled, “a sophomore, I think, back in Queens. He was a senior at the same school. Good looking, tall, and he was a jock. Even as a high schooler, I knew who I was, but he wasn’t ready to even admit it to himself. I’m not sure if it was straight up denial, or his rabid religious parents, but in secret, he told me I was great, stuff like that but after a few weeks, it was as if I was scum and worthless.”

 

Cesare’s brow furrowed.

 

“I guess, now that I think about it, there was more to the heartbreak than just being rejected. The fact that he denied himself of accepting who he was, how he felt, it must have destroyed him. It’s pretty sad.”

 

“Do you know what happened to him?”

 

“Nope. He graduated and I never heard of him again.” Micheletto was halfway through his sandwich when he turned to Cesare. “Can I talk plainly?”

 

“Sure,” Cesare invited.

 

“Is this about Miss Lucrezia?”

 

A lump formed in Cesare’s throat. “Why would you say that?”

 

“Other than the death glares to her target last night?” Micheletto clarified. “How about the fact that you two are the only brother and sister I’ve met who act the way you do? For years, you two act as if you’re lovers or something, but without going all the way. Even the rest of the house sees it, they just are smart enough not to talk about it until they’re in their rooms.”

 

Cesare cradled his head in his hand. It was true, even Juan mentioned it to him before when they were teenagers, how he and their only sister were unnaturally close. It was then during his teen years when he realized there was a reason for his attention and affection, that there was more to this brother-sister relationship. That, and he soon realized he was comparing every woman he dated to her. He couldn’t grasp that, he couldn’t handle that. And then when she moved to the NYU dormitories, he thought he would finally have a sense of relief. But no, it turned out he missed her everyday she was gone. When she wasn’t around, the air was a little thinner, the colors were a little duller, the sun less bright. But as soon as she entered the room, he could breathe and the world appeared in full-blown saturated Technicolor. She was beautiful, smart, sassy, sweet, and she understood him as well as he understood her, without preconceptions or explanations... His little sister was his ideal. “It doesn’t really matter, what I do or how I feel. Even if I try to avoid it by having breakfast in Central Park at seven in the fucking morning.” He sipped his coffee.

 

“But, stuff like that, you’re not supposed to control.”

 

Cesare turned to him.

 

“I’m not an expert on this or anything,” Micheletto set his own disclaimer, “but you’re just like everyone else that way. You don’t control your feelings for someone, not when it comes to that, like love, lust, whatever. You can’t. It just so happens the person you found, she’s been in your family all along.”

 

Cesare looked down to his half-finished sandwich. The world couldn’t be that easy. Or forgiving.

\--

 

“Ah, Mr. Borgia. And Mr. Corella, yes?” Niccolo’s greeted them each when they entered his glass room office. He reached out his hand to each man and shook Cesare’s first, Micheletto’s second. “Now, how are we all this fine morning?” he offered his hand out to the chairs, inviting them to sit down.

 

“Alright,” Cesare and Micheletto sat down on the banker chairs in front of the desk. “What is this meeting about?”

 

“Right to business, I see,” Niccolo’s eyebrows rose above sunken eyes. “Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea? Mimosa?”

 

Micheletto shook his head. “No, thank you,” Cesare responded.

 

“Well, if you won’t mind then, but I want a mimosa,” Niccolo picked up his phone and dialed a button. “Gretchen,” he called his receptionist, “a mimosa, please? Just one.” He hung up the phone and picked up a manila folder sitting centered on the desk. He took it in hand and handed it to Cesare as he took a seat at the edge of his desk, facing Cesare. “My employer believes this would interest you greatly.”

 

Curious, Cesare opened the manila folder and pulled out its contents. In his hand were a few sheets of paper, decorated in red and black scroll work, with large block letters BANE PHARMACY written across the front. Cesare’s eyes widened, scanning the contents of the first few pages. “A stock certificate?”

 

“For Mr. Medici’s entire share.”

 

Cesare couldn’t believe it. An opportunity literally sitting on his lap. “His entire share of Bane?”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” a smile curled over Niccolo’s pointed chin. A knock came to the glass door, and his receptionist came in with the ordered mimosa. She set it on his desk and quickly left the room. “So, if my math is correct, the Borgias are the majority shareholders. Unprecedented...” Niccolo got up from his spot and turned to the nearest built-in cabinet; he opened it to reveal a bottle of brandy and four crystal glasses sitting neatly inside. He poured two glasses and handed one to each man. “You should also look to what’s in the back.”

 

Cesare peeked at a page in the back. It was another stock certificate, this one of red and gold scrolling, and the words MEDICI BANKING Co. in bold script writing. “Stocks to the bank as well? Why is he willing to sell these to me? I’m sure Mr. Medici had his in-laws, the Orsinis, in mind for all these.”

 

“Let’s just say Mr. Medici still hasn’t forgotten what has happened to Lorenzo,” Niccolo reasoned. “Besides, with your family in possession, he was sure the profits would go in the...correct direction, if you will.”

 

Ah, so this was about revenge. With Mr. Medici angry with Caterina’s late husband for sending Lorenzo to prison, although white-collar, it still stung after all these years. And just because the Orsinis and the Medicis are tied by one marriage, doesn’t mean the Orsinis would eventually ally with the Sforzas. Cesare assumed Medici knew this: if the Borgias flexed power, that would cause a stir in all the families. However, Mr. Medici didn’t want to get his own hands dirty. Fine, Cesare thought, he didn’t mind a little dirt and blood. He held his glass up. “Cin cin.”

 

“Salud,” Niccolo picked up his mimosa, clinked glasses with Cesare’s, then Micheletto’s, and took a sip before handing over a pen.

\--

 

They had finished having dinner in Brooklyn before heading back home to Long Island. Cesare had kept it a point to stay out all day, dragging Micheletto along for company. “I need you to do something for me,” Cesare asked as he pulled into the underground parking garage. “I need you to do some research and make some deals for me in Mexico.”

 

“Mexico?”

 

“Yeah,” Cesare parked the car in its usual spot and turned off the ignition. “I want to know exactly which cartels are under the Sforza payroll. From what I gather, they are situated from Texas to Cuba. I want you to find rival cartels and see if they’re willing to see our side of things.”

 

“So, start in Tijuana and make my way east?”

 

“Yup. Then, after that, I’ll pay for you to go on a long vacation.”

 

“I would like to go to Hawaii, then.”

 

“Consider it done.”

 

Cesare and Micheletto disembarked the car simultaneously. They headed up the elevator and onto the ground floor of the mansion. It was late again, the moon sitting high in the sky, partly obscured by whispy grey clouds. The maids and butlers were already finishing up their last minute chores for the night, and dimming some of the sconces.

 

“So, I’ll leave tomorrow,” Micheletto told him. “In case I don’t see you, Cesare, I’ll see you later. And good luck.”

 

“Thanks,” Cesare smiled wryly. “Take care.” He and Micheletto parted ways, Micheletto to his quarters, Cesare towards the main house. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, passing a butler walking towards the West Wing. When Cesare got to the entrance foyer, he saw his older brother walking down the staircase, duffel bag strapped over his shoulder. “Heading out?”

 

“Yup. Over to D.C. again,” Juan said. “Don’t miss me too much.”

 

“I never do,” Cesare said flatly. He waited for his brother to stop at the bottom of the steps. “Is the car already waiting outside for you?”

 

“Yeah. C’mere,” Juan wrapped a free hand around Cesare’s shoulder, “walk with me, would you?” he requested as he made his way to the front door.

 

Cesare obliged, although he was curious as to what his brother wanted to say to him.

 

“So, how long do you think this will go on? Before Orsini and Vitelli cave?”

 

“I don’t know. Soon, hopefully,” Cesare answered.

 

Juan tsked, feigning a sound of disappointment. “Chez, you need to have a distinct timeline for these things. That’s what makes you Capo Bastone Cesare, not Don Cesare. Well, besides me being the oldest.”

 

Cesare narrowed his eyes.

 

“Take me for example. Tonight, I’m going to D.C. for four days. Before my trip is over, I plan to have Maria so damn infatuated with me. And wrapped around my penis. But see, I got a goal. I follow through. I get what I want.” The brothers walked outside to the front door, where the limousine was waiting for Juan to drop him off. He handed his bag to the chauffeur, who placed it in the vehicle’s trunk. “So, Bro, see you in a few days.”

 

“Yeah, see ya.”

 

Juan boarded the limousine and the chauffeur closed his door. The chauffeur took his spot in the driver’s seat and left the estate.

 

As Cesare walked back inside the warmth of the mansion, he began to think. Capo Bastone. As the second son, he always knew he would be the Underboss for the rest of his life. Juan was destined for being the head of the family, even though the idea didn’t sit right with Cesare. Juan was too immature, a wildling. Even though he had a good grasp of the family operations, he seemed to enjoy indulgence little too much, alcohol, women, more alcohol and women. There was more to their life than just making friends in high places.

 

“Juan will be the beloved leader of this family one day,” Rodrigo said once when they were children.

 

Cesare knew if given the chance, he could lead the family into security. But what would the rest of the family say? What would his father think, delving into these new ideas of playing fire with fire, using cartels against Caterina Sforza? His father had always been the kind to hire men locally, where he could keep an eye on them. He was never a trusting man, as he should have been, but there are more resources outside of the east coast, Cesare always thought. And in this world, cash is king. Cash could bring anyone to one’s side; one just has to give the right amount.

 

Cesare took one long look at the door across from his bedroom before opening his own door. He closed it and flicked the light switch on. The curtains were drawn to a close and he began to get ready for bed: a short, hot shower, brushed his teeth and turned off the lights. He undressed until he was completely nude and crawled into bed. He reached for his small stereo remote he always left on his bedside table and turned it on.

 

Italian opera always had the power to relax him.

 

He hadn’t seen her all day. Was she upset with him? Cesare laid down, his hands tucked underneath his pillows.

 

_You don’t control your feelings for someone..._

 

Cesare closed his eyes, allowing the soft voices and music pull him into dreamland.

\--

 

He felt a set of fingertips brush his bare shoulder, and his nose filled with the scent of vanilla and soap. Cesare cracked an eye open and found a figure sitting next to him on the bed. “What the--?” Startled, he sat up quickly, remembering to pull the sheets over his waist.

 

Even with only the LED light coming from his still playing MP3 player receiver, he could tell who it was right away. “What are you doing here?”

 

“We need to talk,” she whispered.

 

“I--.”

 

“And stop pushing me away,” Lucrezia said. “I’m tired of it.”

 

He sat up straight, adjusted the sheets over his waist and hips. “I’ve thought about this all day. How long are we going to deny what’s going on?” she started. “We’ve been this way for years, we just haven’t acted. And I don’t want you to run away from me anymore because...” she took a deep breath, “I can’t handle it when you’re gone.”

 

Cesare looked down to his dark sheets.

 

“And I’m very aware that this is taboo, but if that’s the case, why does it feel so natural...and right? When you’re nearby, I feel safe, and everything is in its place. If we aren’t supposed to feel this way, then why do we?”

 

“I don’t know,” he breathed. He had no explanation; he didn’t know why he loved her the way he did. He just knew society said it was wrong, period.

 

He could hear the rustling of fabric; she moved closer to him and reached out, her fingers touching his shoulder once again. She traced her other hand over his collarbone, feeling his other shoulder. Simultaneously, she ran her hands down his arms, found his hands and brought them to her. He nearly gasped as the palms of his hands came in contact with the bare skin of her breasts. Her voice lowered to a sensual mix of a whisper and a moan. “Only a Borgia, it seems, can truly love a Borgia. I know that people talk. In our social circles. In this house. Why deny ourselves something we’re already accused of?” She let go of his hands and let them drop to her hips as she leaned forward.

 

“But what about--,” Cesare breathed but he couldn’t think of an argument to stop her. He couldn’t find anything to say; he couldn’t fight the urge to want her so badly. Should he have mentioned, what would the family say if they found out? Or Alfonso?

 

She reached her hands out to his face, cradling it in between her hands. “You’re all that matters to me now.” She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips slightly quivering. He could feel her cheeks, wet with tears. Did he do this to her? Did he hurt her for keeping away from her for so long? He hated the idea that he was the cause of her tears. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, scooping her up to straddle his lap. She pressed her lips on his with more confidence this time and shrugged off the rest of her night robe to reveal her bare body underneath.

 

He relished in the softness of her skin, in her scent, like touching something delicate and holy. She leaned back as his mouth explored her breasts, around the soft flesh, teasing her nipples, worshipping the body that sat before him. He managed to push his sheets aside and his body felt hot bursts, skin contacting skin. Lucrezia buried her hands in his hair and massaged his scalp, awestruck at his touch, her gasps drowned out by the background music.

 

Cesare took a slow exhale and he just as slowly inserted himself into her. She let out a sigh of pure joy and ecstasy, feeling whole when he pushed up inside of her, a heavy feeling of longing when he pulled out slightly. He repeated his rocking motion as she straddled him, his hand supporting her at her lower back.

 

Finally, finally. After all these years. Years of seeing her laugh, seeing her cry. Years of longing for her to hug him tighter, longer. Years of wondering how her skin felt, her lips felt. Years of knowing he loved her truly and deeply, but knowing he may not act on that knowledge. Finally, he felt pure relief, full peace, his frustrations vanishing into thin air. He reached a hand to comb her hair back, away from her shoulder and she smiled into his lips. Finally, finally. 


	7. Chapter 7

Notes: Short chapter, hm. Oh well. 

 

Part 6

 

He didn’t sleep a wink that night. He was tired, exhausted, overall spent, but he could not sleep with the guilt that laid next him.

 

Lucrezia had shut her eyes a few hours ago, taking a much-needed nap.

 

Cesare pulled himself away from her warm company, pulling his dark satin sheets under her chin. He slowly left the bed and walked into his bathroom. He shut the door, drowning out the opera music that had been playing on loop, and turned on the lights. He looked at himself in the mirror.

 

What have you done?

 

He turned on the faucet and rinsed his face. Cesare reached for a nearby towel and patted his face dry.  He looked at himself in the mirror again. What will you say to her when she wakes? You’ve crossed that line; will it strengthen or destroy you both?

 

When he re-entered his bedroom, he kept the bathroom light on and the door slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of yellow light to cut into the room. He caught sight of Lucrezia still sleeping in his bed. He could hold her, maybe, just a little more, he thought to himself. She just needed to return to her own room before the household wakes. As Cesare laid next to her, she began to stir, rubbing her eyes from sleep. She slowly groaned, stretched her arms above her head and opened her eyes. “Hey,” she whispered softly, barely audible above the music.

 

“Hey,” he breathed.

 

She tilted her head to the side, a satisfied smile on her face. But then she looked at his expression in the dark, as if she could see his eyebrows furrowed. “Something wrong?” His silence seemed to answer her question. Lucrezia propped herself up on her elbows, keeping the sheet over her body for decency. “What is it?”

 

“There’s… there’s no easy way to say this…” Cesare felt ridiculous. He sounded like a fool trying to break up with his girlfriend. “But last night… I can’t let it happen again.”

 

She didn’t seem angry, from what he could see.

 

“Don’t misunderstand,” he clarified. “You, above all people, are important to me. And if circumstances were different, this…dream,” he called it, “would be attainable. But I think, I can’t help thinking I failed you by letting this happen.”

 

“You aren’t the only person who ‘let this happen’. I helped make this happen, too. I just have no regrets.”

 

“No, I don’t regret how I feel or what happened,” he told her. “But, for the good of this family, we can’t continue on this way.”

 

Save for the low playing music, there was no sound between the two of them. Cesare could hear his own heartbeat, drumming in his ears. Could he really walk away so easily, now that he has seen, heard, smelled, felt and tasted his darkest and deepest desire… and adored every moment of it?

 

He had to. God, he didn’t want to, but he just had to.

 

“So what now?”

 

“You continue with Alfonso. And I continue doing as Dad wishes.”

 

Lucrezia sat up, tucking the sheets under her arms, keeping herself covered. “ ‘For the sake of the family’…” she scoffed. “Sometimes the family’s sake hinders other things, don’t you think? I don’t want you falling short of what you want just because of Papa or Juan. So, when you’re ready to claim everything you want and deserve…” she reached out her hand for his and held it tightly, “Come back.”

 

Cesare held her hand in return, and pulled it to his face, her palm against his cheek before placing a kiss on her thumb. He felt the pads of her thumb stroke his skin before pulling away. Lucrezia stood from the bed, searching for her night robe; he briefly glanced away. She found it dropped haphazardly on the floor near the foot of the bed. He watched in silence as she slipped it on and headed to the door, not looking back once as she closed the door behind her.

\--

 

Cesare knew he was in trouble. The signs were there. First, his father called him to his office. Second, his father was glaring at him with an air of anger. Third, Jeofre was not in the room, meaning that Rodrigo wanted to speak to his second son. Alone.

 

“I read in the paper that Medici sold his share of Bane Pharm a few days ago,” Rodrigo began, sitting in front of Cesare at the edge of his desk. “Privately. But word has it, the person who holds these shares is you.”

 

Cesare nodded. “I am.”

 

Rodrigo sighed, “Why did you say nothing to me?”

 

“What is there to say? I saw an opportunity and I took it. We wanted to flex our power in Orsini’s and Vitelli’s face, so why not take it?”

 

“Without even consulting me?”

 

“Why does it matter?” Cesare couldn’t understand his father’s disapproval. “The Borgias now own a majority of the shares. Why does it matter if it’s in your name or mine? It’s Borgia property!”

 

“But WE are a family! WE make these calls together! WE do not leave each other in the dark.”

 

And then it suddenly dawned on Cesare. “You mean YOU are the family, YOU make the calls, YOU don’t want to be in the dark,” he realized as he rose to his feet.

 

Rodrigo raised his hand and struck him on the cheek, not intentionally hard, but just enough to shock his son. “Every decision I make,” he grabbed his son’s shoulder, hard, “is for the safety and security of this family. That is my greatest concern in life, so I want to know what’s going on, don’t you see? If they find out that we both have separate investments, it would look like we may not be a united front. Not unified reads as weak, which makes us vulnerable.”

 

“Why can’t you trust me, Dad?” Cesare asked. “I have the same intentions and concerns. I can lead this family, this organization--.”

 

“What I need for you to do,” Rodrigo pointed to his son, “is to be the best support system possible. When it is my time, which hopefully is a long ways away, Juan will lead this family. And he will need an ally, someone who can rely on, someone who he can trust. Who better to trust than family?”

 

Of course… Rodrigo still saw potential in his eldest son. Potential that was not there, at least in Cesare’s eyes.

 

“But it has to start with allowing yourself to be transparent and undisclosed to your family. Now,” Rodrigo sat back on his desk, “other than the Bane Pharm stock, is there anything else I should be aware of?”

 

Cesare couldn’t believe this. His father’s unyielding faith in Juan, his blatant distrust, his vanity… What would his father say if he told him he had another set of stocks to flex his power in front of the Orsinis? What would he say if he told his father he was scouting cartels at the US-Mexico border to drive out Caterina Sforza? Would he approve?

 

“No,” he answered, “No other concerns.”

\--

 

Dinner was, to say the least, awkward. Rodrigo sat with a deep-set frown on his face as he ate his meal. Lucrezia sat just next to him; sometimes her hand brushing Cesare’s arm. Vanozza and Jeofre quietly sat on the other side of the table, as if nothing was wrong. It had been a week since Cesare and Lucrezia spent the night together, five days since Cesare and Rodrigo argued. He couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling.

 

“So, Dad,” Jeofre broke the silence, “I got my grades back.”

 

“Yes? How did you do?”

 

“My lowest grade was an A-. In English.”

 

That brought a smile to Rodrigo’s face. “Another spectacular addition to NYU! By the way, you never mentioned, what do you want to study there?”

 

“I’m kinda on the fence between business or psychology. They’re both interesting.” Jeofre turned to his older siblings. “What about you two? Lucrezia is studying history, but what did you do, Cesare?”

 

“Law.”

 

“…Really?” the youngest seemed surprised.

 

“Yup. Juan knew very early on he didn’t want to go to school, so when it was my turn, I thought I could study something that would help him in some way,” Cesare managed to say without glancing at his father once.

 

“Because Juan is going to be boss one day, right?”

 

The room suddenly filled with the sound of a buzzing cell phone. Everyone looked around until they found Cesare digging through his pocket. “Sorry,” he apologized to his mother, who only responded with an annoyed eyebrow. He pressed the down volume button to stop the buzzing and replaced the device back in his pocket.

 

When dinner finished, Cesare left the dining space and immediately headed to his room. He closed the door behind him and turned on his music, all while scrolling for his missed call. Finding the number he was looking for, Cesare pressed the talk button; it rang twice.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey. Please say you have something good?” Cesare told him.

 

“Whoa, pressure,” Micheletto said on the other line. “I spoke to some of my ‘friends’ here in Tijuana. They have a number in mind.”

 

“Of course they do. What is it?”

 

“$150 million.”

 

“Huh,” Cesare was somewhat relieved, “I thought they would ask for way more than that. Tell them no more than $100 million. And if they are willing to work beyond that, a distribution port in New York. Then they have a deal.”

 

“Will do,” Micheletto confirmed. “You sure this will work? Some of our friends don’t get along so well.”

 

“They both get along with money just fine, though. You’re a convincing man, Micheletto, I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”

 

“Hmm,” if Micheletto doubted him, he hid it very well. “I’m going back stateside of the border and head east.”

 

“Alright, looking forward to it. And, I don’t think I need to remind you, but what’s going on is strictly between us, alright?”

 

“I’m just visiting San Diego and decided to go cross-country for a bit.”

 

Cesare laughed. “Enjoy your rode trip.”

 

“Adios.” The line hung up.

\--

 

“This is a message for Mr. Cesare Borgia. This is Giambattista Orsini. I will be in New York City next week, starting the 19th, and would like to set up a meeting with you while I’m in town. I have some business I would like to discuss with you. Please call my personal cell phone at your earliest convenience at 773-555-1080. Thank you and have a pleasant evening.”

 

Cesare held a towel around his waist, his hair dripping wet, standing in his bedroom. After he finished hearing the message, he turned his voicemail off, smiled and scrolled down his missed call list. Seeing that the number provided matched the missed call on his list, he hit talk. “Good evening, Mr. Orsini.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Working on how to incorporate “Il Valentino”. My attempt sucks, so please forgive.

 

Part 7

 

This week was far warmer than the last. With the hot days of summer approaching, relief from the heat was any breeze coming in from the bays surrounding the Long Island community the Borgia Estate sat in.

 

All of the mansion’s windows were open as Cesare walked through the house. As he entered the kitchen, he found his sister alone, standing at the counter, scooping globs of dough on a cookie sheet. Different ingredients were spread out in front of her: flour, sugar, chocolate chips, vanilla, milk, eggs, and other baking equipment and ingredients. He approached her from behind and gently held her, his hands to her arms. “You haven’t baked in a while.”

 

“I know,” she laughed and turned to him, craning her neck to look behind her. “But you can’t have any. I’m only making a dozen, maybe just a little more.”

 

“I’m sure you can spare a little,” he reached to get a fingerful of dough, but she playfully swatted his hand away.

 

“That’s raw dough. With eggs.”

 

“Hmm,” he returned his hands to her arms and watched as she scooped evenly portioned balls onto the cookie sheet. “Are these for Alfonso?”

 

“Mm-hm,” she confirmed. “I’ll be seeing him later today in Central Park.”

 

Cesare tried his hardest to fight the ugly green monster manifesting in his chest. He knew she was just doing what would be expected of her. Now that Alfonso and she were dating, a girlfriend was expected to do little random acts of love, like having dates, exchanging text messages, baking these… Cesare took a deep breath. “Should I be jealous?” he whispered.

 

Lucrezia giggled. Why did that annoy him, why was she laughing at him? “No,” she replied. “You shouldn’t. After all,” she craned her neck to face him again, “all he’s had are cookies.”

 

Her alluding to that night two weeks ago… Cesare shook his head and held her tighter. He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, inhaling her signature scent of vanilla and soap. He wished his sheets smelled this way, he wished he could be enveloped in her again. Her hair was pulled up, so he took the opportunity to brush his lips across her neck and shoulder. She let out a satisfied sigh, setting her hands down on the counter.

 

And then, he suddenly realized what he was doing. Cesare let out a groan deep in his throat and pulled away, still holding on to her, but face upright.

 

“Also, Alfonso wants to meet up with you.”

 

“He what?”

 

“He didn’t get to speak to you much before, but he’d like to. Since I’ve told him how important you are to me.”

 

“Did you now? So, what do you have in mind?”

 

“We’re going to Coney Island this weekend. Perhaps a double-date? Although…” she put the cookie scoop down and dusted her hands off on her apron, “to be honest, I’m concerned with who you’d bring. Knowing your social circles in college, someone leggy and attractive…”

 

“And who doesn’t hold a candle to you. No one ever does.” Cesare said, kissing her head, his lips into her golden strands. “I’ll see who I can bring. Tell your boy I’ll go.”

 

“Thank you,” she reached one hand to his and took it, grasping it firmly with a smile on her face. Thank you for understanding, he could hear her voice say, thank you for your patience.

 

She let go and picked up the cookie sheet. He let her go about her business, leaving her alone again in the kitchen.

\--

 

Sunset hit New York City. The Rolls Royce pulled up to the restaurant in the DUMBO area of Brooklyn, just east of the Brooklyn Bridge. It looked like a converted loft building turned restaurant, with its expansive glass windows and exterior concrete walls. Inside felt massive with 15-foot ceilings and dropped light fixtures you would expect seeing in a factory. The inside was brightly lit and airy, with partial walls separating the main dining hall to private reserve rooms, glass partitions blocking back hallways, and the bar opened up to the parts of the kitchen, including the pizza oven and grill. Steel, exposed, internal beams were set off by dark, recycled wood furniture and velvet blush seat cushions and booths.

 

As Cesare entered, he looked around the crowded dining hall. He surveyed the patrons, those having dinner with their families, those having dates. And then he spotted a single man, sitting towards the back of the crowded restaurant. He weaved his way through the tables and walked up to the solitary man.

 

He was dressed in a light pair of trousers and brown shoes to match his egg-shell blazer. The man must have been pushing 70, maybe 75, with any leftover hair now white as snow; probably a decade older than Rodrigo. Giambattista Orsini saw him approach and stood to his feet, extending his hand out. “Good evening, Mr. Borgia.”

 

“Evening,” Cesare shook his hand, and then unbuttoned his single button blazer as he sat opposite of him. He briefly surveyed his surroundings. There was no way the head of the Orsini family was alone and unarmed. His guards must have been lurking around somewhere.

 

“You’ll have to forgive an old man. Senior citizens have a tendency to eat on an early schedule, so I already ordered. Would you like anything?”

 

“Scotch. Neat.”

 

Orsini managed to flag down his waitress. “Excuse me, uh, Heidi,” he read her nametag, “Neat Scotch for my friend here.”

 

“Sure thing,” the auburn haired woman smiled at Cesare and left. In a few minutes, she returned with the ordered drink and left the table.

 

“How are you finding New York?” Cesare started the small talk.

 

“Surprisingly warm, but pleasant,” Orsini commented. “I was hoping to make my trip productive, however.”

 

The alcohol caused a warming sensation to go down Cesare’s throat. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“I’m thinking of my family’s future. Now, we have a lucrative business but I think it’s time to expand. My goal is to expand to California and Las Vegas.”

 

“And this has to do with me because…?”

 

“Because after a week of research, I discovered that the Oro Cartel now answers to someone else, it seems. Someone whose red-headed liaison called ‘Valentino’.”

 

Cesare raised a brow. Seriously? That was the only nickname his liaison, Micheletto, came up with? The Borgias were the only family whose origins traced back to Valencia, Spain. It was all a big joke to Micheletto, wasn’t it? “Alright, so you want to expand in California and Nevada?”

 

“Yes, but it directly, how do I say, ‘overlaps’ the Oro’s produce. Granted, it is not the very same product, but it could give way to arguing. If you understand?”

 

Jurisdiction disputes were always messy, especially with drug cartels. With Orsini in the business of distributing some illicit drugs via Canada, interests with the Oro Cartel may overlap, especially with the huge population of California. “So, you want me to put in a good word for you to the Oros to let you sell your product to a state they’ve already laid claim to?”

 

“Yes. Ideally, all the state, but I’ll take everything north of Fresno. And Las Vegas, so we’re clear.”

 

If Cesare let Orsini sell in California, how much would he make? Money, although important, was not his main goal. Keeping the Sforzas in line was. Then again, the money didn’t hurt either. He wanted to make sure the Oro Cartel would be happy, considering that distance between Baja California and New York. A happy cartel resulted in an obedient cartel. “Here are my terms, regardless of how much of California you will be allowed to share: a 2/3 or all your profits to me and you help distribute any Oros products to Canada.”

 

Orsini’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “A third left--?”

 

“I’m not finished,” Cesare narrowed her eyes. “Also, if the Sforzas ask for your assistance, you’ll refuse. If I find out that you do ally yourself with the Sforzas, the Della Roveres or anyone else associated with them, I’ll simply tell the Oros to kill and burn your suppliers and supplies to the ground.”

 

Orsini exhaled through the nose, clearly not happy. Cesare let him think about it, and hid his smile in his scotch glass as he took a sip. “You ask for too much, Mr. Borgia.”

 

“I think you don’t realize how much you’re asking for,” Cesare remarked. “You’re asking an established cartel to turn a blind eye, even share space and profit. So, you have two choices: you can try to distribute in the northern states, where there is some of the lowest population in the country, consumed in winter, snow and rain for half the year… or you can try to play nice with the Oros and profit in most of the major cities in California and possibly Nevada. Because I guarantee you, the amount of money you can make in those northern states, the Dakotas, Montana, whatever, will pale in comparison to the sales you can make in a few of California’s major cities alone.” Cesare shrugged. “Even with your 1/3 cut. Take your pick.”

 

Orsini sat quietly, eyes beady and glaring at the young man. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his light colored blazer, pondering, thinking, mulling over Cesare’s offer. Cesare took a deep breath, waiting for his response. “All the other terms, but 40/60, with 40% to you.”

 

“Switch it, 40% to you.”

 

Orsini sighed again, and scratched the tip of his chin, his nailtips digging into his beard. After a few more moments, he finally nodded. “Deal.”

 

Cesare smiled. “Perfect,” he stood from his seat. “I’ll keep in touch.”

 

He reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet but Orsini held his hand up. “Please, allow me. Pleasure doing business with you,” he rose to his feet and held out his hand once more.

 

“No, the pleasure is mine,” Cesare shook his hand back. “Have a good evening. Enjoy your dinner.” He re-buttoned his blazer and turned, leaving the restaurant.

\--

 

Lucrezia readjusted to scarf around her head, making sure it was tight, protecting her hair front the convertible winds. Her dress was simple: a dark blue and white polka dot A-line dress that stopped right above her knee, and white flats on her feet. Cesare wondered if she did that last minute change when she saw him emerge from his room wearing a navy blue shirt.

 

He kept his eyes on the highway as he drove his dark black Jaguar, with Lucrezia sitting close to him on the passenger’s seat. He kept his hand on the clutch, trying to keep it occupied; idle hands and he might have reached for her.

 

They stopped in front of a boardwalk, the scent of the Atlantic and the sounds of laughter and screams filling the air. The coastline was occupied, board by board, with small shacks that hosted various carnival games, and classic amusement park rides: a ferris wheel, a carousel, a wooden coaster, a dark haunted house ride and bumper cars, just to name a few. The sun sat high over the coast, illuminating the adjacent beach with ribbons of orange and yellow, allowing sunbathers to tan and children to splash around the ocean water.

 

Lucrezia looked at the front entrance and narrowed her eyes underneath her brown designer sunglasses. “Is that…?”

 

Cesare turned off the ignition and looked in the direction Lucrezia was facing. Among the crowd stood a woman beside a ticket booth. She was very slender, with her dark brown hair pulled up in a thick bun, wearing a short sleeve, short light denim romper with gladiator sandals that laced up to her knees. “You told me to bring a date, right?”

 

“I just didn’t expect her,” Lucrezia said honestly. Cesare left the car and opened Lucrezia’s door for her.

 

They both walked up to the waiting woman, who greeted them both with a smile. “Cesare,” she smiled and kissed both of his cheeks. “And Lucrezia,” she repeated the action, “Long time no see. Comme ca va?”

 

“We’re good, thank you,” Lucrezia answered, managing a smile.

 

“Hey! We’re all here?” came another voice. They all turned around to see Alfonso approaching them, dressed in a casual polo shirt, cargo shorts and flip flop sandals. He immediately wrapped an arm around Lucrezia, greeting her in a half-hug. “You look great,” he commented.

 

“Thank you,” the blonde smiled a little more genuinely.

 

Cesare took a deep breath.

 

“This is Alfonso,” Lucrezia introduced. “Alfonso, this is Charlotte.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” he shook her hand.

 

“And you remember my brother, Cesare.”

 

“Of course,” Alfonso grinned happily. “Hey, you two got a cute little brother and sister act going, matching colors and stuff.”

 

Lucrezia turned to Cesare and smiled at him, followed by a laugh. “I didn’t even notice,” she told her boyfriend and then back to Cesare.

 

Liar, Cesare read right through her.

 

They made their way down the boardwalk, getting in line for the wooden coaster first. “So, Charlotte,” Alfonso asked, “are you a student?”

 

“No, I model.”

 

“Oh, that’s cool. A pro model, huh? So how long have you and Cesare known each other?”

 

“Probably…” she tilted her head in Cesare’s direction. “Two years?”

 

“About,” he verified. He briefly remembered how they first met. It was at Fashion Week in New York. Giulia, then a new designer, had given Juan, Lucrezia and him passes to her show, where he saw her for the first time when she walked down the runway. They bumped into each other later during the afterparty and began dating casually sometime after that.

 

The whole entire time on the boardwalk, Cesare kept quiet, only spoke when spoken to, and grudgingly looked on as Alfonso touched Lucrezia in any way, whether it was holding her hand, an arm around her shoulder, even a kiss on the cheek. Sometimes, Lucrezia would turn her head to him and flashed him a smile, causing one to appear on his own face.

 

Cesare tossed a plastic blue ring into a sea of empty milk cans. It flew, made a ‘clink’ sound when it hit the glass and dropped around one of the neck’s of the cans.

 

“Here, you go,” the vendor handed Cesare a small pink cat. “Wanna try your luck again?”

 

“No, thank you,” Cesare answered. He was never a fan of this particular carnival game, but he needed some breathing room away from the Commissioner’s son. He briefly glanced at the young couple who were over at the next booth before turning back to his date. “Here,” he said, handing the cat over to Charlotte, “payment for agreeing to this.”

 

Charlotte smiled, taking the cat in hand. “I don’t need payment, but thank you.” She opened up her purse, placed the cat into it and closed it, allowing its head to stick out of an opening. “You know, Cesare, when we broke up, I figured it was because you couldn’t commit. Now I see why.”

 

Cesare’s eyes narrowed at her. “I was 20 then, you were 19. We were young. We’re still young.”

 

“Hmm,” Charlotte nodded slowly. “True. And if I had a far less exciting career, I probably would have wanted us to continue. But I would have seen more quickly that there would be someone in my way.” She briefly glanced behind him.

 

Cesare turned around, seeing Alfonso paying for more ammunition for him and Lucrezia to play. He turned back to Charlotte. “How did you know?”

 

“Just the way you look at her. The way you smile at her isn’t the same as a man who dotes on his sister,” Charlotte shrugged. “But what do I know, I’m a single child.”

 

Cesare fell silent. Was he that transparent when it came to Lucrezia? Then again, Charlotte D’Albret was the only woman he dated that he became friends with. He had left a string of broken hearts through his life, but she seemed to be the only one who didn’t blatantly avoid him. And now for her to see his interaction with Lucrezia made him wonder, was his feelings that obvious to the rest of the world?

 

Cesare and Charlotte joined the other two, who were still trying to win a prize at their game. “Any luck?” Cesare asked his sister.

 

Lucrezia giggled. “No, almost though. Alfonso got most of the targets.”

 

“What are you supposed to do?” Cesare asked. “Shoot everything?”

 

“Yup,” the young, extremely energetic brown-eyed vendor replied. “$3, and I load the pistol with 10 shots. 10 shots, 10 targets. If you get at least 9 shots, you get one of our large prizes.”

 

Cesare looked into the rafters of the stall to see what prizes were available. There were various animals of all different colors, most of them stood half the size of him, all with large sparkling eyes and adorable smiles. In the corner of the stall, he spotted a white unicorn, with light red mane and a bright soft yellow horn. “Get the unicorn ready,” he confidently told the vendor as he pulled three single bills from his wallet and handed it to the vendor.

 

“You know which one I want,” Lucrezia stated. It wasn’t a question.

 

“Of course I do,” Cesare smirked at her.

 

The vendor happily obliged, loading the pistol with 10 promised ammunition, and then he turned on the targets.

 

The targets were small painted aliens on plywood, all set up in a descending tiered formation. In the row closest to the shooter was a line of four targets, standing still. Above was a line of three targets, swaying back and forth, left and right. Next were two targets, stationary, but turning every quarter turn on its axis. And finally at the top was the single most mobile figure, bouncing around and moving the full length of the shelf from left to right and back.

 

Cesare raised his hand and pointed the gun, easily shooting the four in front. He waited a brief second for the swaying row, waiting for each one to be on the left side before shooting them down. He took a little more time with the third row, timing the quarter turns and shooting right when the targets turned flat to the shooter. And at the top, Cesare held his gun for a while, following the movements of the most mobile figure. He paced with it, pointing the gun at it as he moved left and right. And then, Cesare shot, the white ammo ball hitting the target on the bottom right hand side.

 

Lucrezia jumped and clapped. “Yes!” she screamed and immediately wrapped her arms around Cesare’s neck, sharing her excitement with him. He returned the gesture by wrapping an arm around her and planting a kiss on her temple. With his other free hand, he retrieved the large unicorn from the vendor and handed it to her. “Oh, thank you!” Lucrezia’s smile widened. “He’s so cute! I wonder what to call him…”

 

“Whatever you want,” Cesare responded.

 

“I could name him after you.”

 

Cesare made a face, as if he thought the whole idea of sharing a name with a stuffed toy was strange. But, whatever she wanted, he didn’t protest.

 

A cough. “You’re a good shot, Cesare,” Alfonso’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

 

That’s right. They weren’t alone. They were on a double-date and not with each other. Cesare couldn’t help the urge to glower at Alfonso, but one squeeze of Lucrezia’s hand, and it gently calmed his nerves. She pulled away and stepped up to Alfonso. “So what should we do next?”

 

Hours progressed and sunset started to peak over Coney Island. Alfonso and Lucrezia were stopped in front of Cesare’s car; talking in lowered voices, Alfonso’s fingers gingerly grazing over her knuckles. His thumb petted the white skin of her fingers, his thumbpad touching the flat gold ring on her left fourth finger. Cesare walked Charlotte to her car on the other side of the lot. “Thanks again for coming today,” Cesare said to Charlotte.

 

“No problem. I had a nice day off.” They approached her silver Mercedes Benz coupe, parked in the middle of a long lane of sedans and minivans. She dug into her purse quickly and pulled out a set of keys. “You know…” she tapped the keyless entry remote to her cheek and then turned to Cesare. “I don’t know the full story but… you’ve been the same for almost the past two years. Same, and unhappy. You’ve gone through law school but not actually taken the BAR exam. But we both know you could easily pass it if you bothered to try. We both know what you want in your personal life, but you can’t have it. Are you okay with just being the financial advisor to your family?”

 

Cesare took a deep breath. Was he really that miserable that it showed? Was he really that unhappy with his position, being his older brother’s spine, his father’s errand boy and his sister’s not-lover? No. That’s why he started making these deals. That’s why, to stand on his own, away from any shadows. “I’m working on it,” he told her.

 

“Maybe New York isn’t where you’re meant to be,” Charlotte shrugged. She tiptoed up to his face and gave him a brief kiss on his lips. “Don’t be a stranger.” She unlocked the driver’s side door and hopped in; Cesare closed the door for her when she was securely settled into the seat. She looked up at him one more time through the window, they exchanged waves, and she slowly drove away.


	9. Chapter 9

Note: Oro = “gold”, Plata = “Silver”, Rio = “River” in Spanish.

 

Part 8

 

**Gold and Silver look good together. The Tigress and her cubs have been pushed back to Sunshine.**

 

Cesare scrolled through his text messages that morning. He wondered, why was his friend so keen on code words? Probably at this day in age, phones could get hacked in, read, and used as incriminating evidence. That, and he did remember Micheletto being such a fan of spy movies and mystery novels.

 

The Oro Cartel of Tijuana and the Plata Cartel of rest of the border have agreed to work with one another and push Caterina’s Rio Cartel. What type of magic did Micheletto perform to join the bickering cartels, and still manage to stay alive at the end of it?  A faint smile crossed Cesare’s lips.

\--

 

He’s been in his father’s office many times before for the past few months, but this was different. Rodrigo paced around his office, behind the desk, around it towards the french doors, and repeated. His older brother stood quietly, his arms crossed, a frown set deep in his features.

 

Cesare could see his brother fuming. He could tell his father was as well.

 

He watched as Rodrigo lifted his hands to his own face, wiped his fingers over the bridge of his nose, and then clasped his hands together as if in prayer. He opened his mouth and took a breath before actually speaking. “How can this family work if we do not trust each other?” Rodrigo sighed, dejected. Cesare opened his mouth, ready to speak, but his father rushed to him, standing over him, shaking his fist in rage. “I find out you are making deals with cartels behind my back!” he screamed, unleashing his anger. “Sforza is running off to Florida because she is getting pushed by two of the three biggest cartels in the hemisphere, who are under your command! How long would you think you could fight this war without me finding out?!”

 

“Why does it matter?” Cesare asked. “I want to make sure she understands that she has no power over us. Even if my boys have to push her into the Atlantic Ocean.”

 

“We were supposed to merely come to an agreement with the other families, to flex our power to Caterina, not engage in direct war with her! Not yet, at least! It’s far too early for that. Besides, have you ever thought of the risk for drug trafficking? How many years that would be if you were caught?”

 

“Well, I’m not going to wait around and react after she tries to pull something,” Cesare explained himself. “I’m going to squash the spider before she has the chance to bite. Like I said, Dad,” he stressed the title with a twinge of bitterness, “Why does it matter? Is me being proactive the real problem here, or is it the fact that I didn’t tell you, so you could have your say?”

 

Rodrigo’s nostrils flared, air filling his nose. His face became blotched red, all signs to Cesare that his father was mad at him. And that Cesare was indeed right. He couldn’t help it, but a sense of betrayal rolled into Cesare’s throat. His father wanted order. He wanted power. And most importantly, he wanted control. Over his life, his associates, even his children.

 

“Get out,” Rodrigo hissed. “I can’t speak to you right now.”

 

Cesare stood from his chair, locked in an icy glare with his father. “Just so you know, Dad,” Cesare said the title with the same amount of bitterness, “I’m going to Florida soon to see if I can push Caterina out of this country for good. Thought you’d like to know.” He left the office and closed the door behind him. Just as the doorknob latched, it opened again. Cesare turned and came face to face with his older brother. “Now what?”

 

“I know what you’re up to,” Juan hissed, just like his father, “and don’t think it’s gonna work.”

 

“And what am I up to?”

 

“You think you can replace me? You think you’re better than me? Cuz you’re not!” Juan jabbed a finger in Cesare’s chest. “I’m strengthening this family with associates for--.”

 

“I’m building armies, Juan,” Cesare sneered, “My manpower is pushing our enemies to a corner. What are you doing, sleeping around and boozing your way around for allies?”

 

“You think you can replace me? Go ahead and try,” Juan threatened. “I’m the first born, I’m meant to be the Don one day.”

 

Let’s hope not, Cesare caught his mind saying. He decided to keep his mouth closed. He wasn’t afraid of his brother, or his father for that matter. Fueling the brother rivalry was bothersome, juvenile, and useless. Simply because he knew that he was better than his older brother.

 

Cesare said nothing, only walked by Juan, their shoulders barely grazing one another. Cesare walked further down the hallway, away from his father’s office, away from the front of the house. He entered a large open space, its gold-colored tray ceilings reflecting the sunlight pooling in from outside. Large, broad statuesque columns provided supportive decoration for the space, with sheer white and grey drapes cascading down to the floor. A large TV set behind an even larger mirror sat over the marble stone fireplace, framed in gold. Cesare flopped down on one of the large butter-leather armchairs in front of the fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

Frustration knotted in his stomach, tightly, as if his abdomen was getting squeezed little by little. He stood to his feet and walked over to the large windows, overlooking the grand backyard space. Past the swimming pool, past the limestone steps, out on the dock connecting their backyard to the harbor, he saw a familiar figure sitting at the edge of the wooden lip. Cesare opened one of the glass doors to the backyard. He walked down the stone steps, down a few flights, until he strode over the grass stretch and finally onto the dock. The wood creaked beneath his feet, warning of his presence. He squatted behind her blonde figure and reached to her ear, his finger gently flicking her dangle sapphire earring. “What are you doing out here?”

 

Lucrezia turned her head away from him.

 

Cesare took a moment and sat beside her on the dock, their feet dangling over the edge, their toes only a foot from the water. When he sat, he noticed her holding a small square red box in her hands. She sat there quietly without uttering a single word to him, just drumming her thumbs on the top of the box. “Is that a gift?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

 

She nodded and handed it to him, her eyes straight ahead of her to the horizon. Cesare took hold of it and pulled the lid off, revealing a thin gold bangle bracelet with a small heart charm attached to it. So, the relationship has gotten to that point where Alfonso has started buying her gifts. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. Summer was almost at an end; the two of them had been dating for two months. He closed the box and handed it back to her. “What’s wrong?”

 

There was pain written all over her face. The way her shoulders slouched, her thin brow furrowed together, and her steel eyes shiny and glassy like the water below her. She drummed her thumbs on the box again. Lucrezia took a breath. “I think I’m going to hell.”

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“Because what I’m doing. Whether I’m told to or not… it’s just bad,” her eyes fell to the box in her possession. “He really likes me, I think. He likes me, and I’m playing him. Like a guitar.”

 

So, the guilt was starting to eat at her, he realized. This was what she was born to do, what was expected of her, and yet, unlike her father and brothers, she still managed to keep her conscience intact. A trait he found himself envious for. And yet he couldn’t help but ask, “Do you like him too?” Cesare couldn’t help but notice the affection she displayed with Alfonso. Was it real? Or was she that good of an actress?

 

Her eyes were downcast to the box, her lips taking in a small breath. “He’s nice. Sweet to me. I like him,” she admitted, “but he’s not the one I love,” and she looked up to him, reassuring him, calming him.

 

Cesare nodded slightly, understanding what she was saying to him. He knew her feelings for him, he knew she loved him. And even still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if things didn’t transpire the way they did. If he was the bigger man in the situation, the one with the level head to refuse her. Cesare would have probably have been very unhappy with himself, but how would things play out then? “Lucrezia. Look at me,” he asked.

 

She obliged, turning her head to him.

 

“I’m going out of town for a while. For some business. It will probably only take a few days but while I’m gone, I want you to try and forget. Forget and try to find something…normal,” he requested.

 

Her eyes twitched, narrowing ever so slightly. Was she mad? Was she hurt?

 

“Maybe…” he couldn’t believe he was saying this, “Maybe being with Alfonso is good for you.”

 

“Haven’t you told me this before?”

 

Did he?

 

“You told me to continue with Alfonso while you continue doing Papa’s bidding.”

 

Oh, right… it was after their night together. How could he have forgotten that? Cesare watched as Lucrezia reached her hand out to his knee and squeezed it tenderly. “And I told you when you’re ready to stop settling, come back.”

 

But things have changed now, haven’t they? Her interest for Alfonso has increased now, hasn’t it? How could he deny her a chance for a real relationship, not something with him, something he knows society would see as sinful and full of disgrace?

 

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

 

“Tomorrow morning. Early.”

 

She stood from where she sat and leaned down, placing a kiss on his cheek. Red box still in hand, she walked away, off the dock, leaving Cesare to watch her leave his sight.

\--

 

Cesare woke up while the sun was still down and the crickets were still singing. He grudgingly pulled the covers off his body and tossed them to the bed he left behind. He made his way to the en-suite bathroom and turned on the lights to a dim setting, allowing his eyes to adjust. He turned on the faucet to rinse his face and immediately looked at his reflection in the mirror.

 

Early morning flight. Why did he agree to an early morning flight?

 

A glimmer of gold shined on his left small finger. Cesare pulled his hands away from his face and turned his left hand palm down, catching a better look at the new ring he was wearing. It was a small gold band with a flat plate in the center. On the flat gold plate was a lightly engraved “L”, in classic calligraphy.

 

His sister’s ring? Did she slip this on in the middle of the night, while he slept?

 

A smile began forming on his face.

 

He quickly dressed in a simple dark blouse and dark wash indigo jeans before stepping out of his bedroom. With his weekend bag in hand, he closed the door behind him. Cesare glanced to the door across the hall; her light wasn’t on, there were no noises of life coming from her room. He unconsciously rubbed his thumb over his pinky ring and walked down the hall to the main staircase.

 

And to his surprise, he saw a figure waiting for him at the base of the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

 

“’Mornin’ to you too,” Juan yawned with his arms stretched over his head.

 

“Answer me, Juan.”

 

“Relax, it’s too early to be an ass,” Juan responded. “There’s no way you’re going to Florida alone, anyway.”

 

“Some of my men are already there.”

 

“Right, well, so are some of mine,” Juan lifted his own bag in hand. “Wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes, bro.” When Cesare got to the foot of the stairs, Juan gave a friendly pat on his brother’s shoulder. “Come on, the jet’s waiting for us.”

 

Cesare narrowed his eyes. Did Rodrigo put Juan up to his? Did Juan want to make sure he wasn’t trying to overthrow him? Cesare said nothing to him, just rolled his eyes and walked out the front door.


	10. Chapter 10

Note:  Juan has a potty mouth.

 

Part 9

 

When the jet’s door opened to the moist Miami air, Cesare could see that they were expected. There were two dark black cars sitting close to the plane’s hanger; Micheletto was standing in front of one, while Antonio, Juan’s soldier, was standing in front of the other.

 

Juan was first to emerge from the plane, slipping a pair of black sunglasses on his face, with a bright smile towards the sun. Cesare followed quietly; they both walked down the staircase and moved towards the cars. “Tony!” Juan greeted. “Everything going good, bud?”

 

Meanwhile, Cesare walked to the car behind Micheletto and placed his bag in the open truck. “Have a nice flight?” Micheletto greeted.

 

Cesare exhaled sharply through his teeth. “Sure.” He closed the trunk and walked up to his friend, all while watching his brother board the other car in front of him. Antonio closed the door and boarded the front passenger side. “Are we headed to the hotel now?” Cesare asked.

 

“Yup. He even has a room down the hall.” Micheletto informed him as he opened the back door to the car. “Could have let me known earlier, though. When I saw Antonio at the hotel, he said you two had plans for Caterina.” He looked at his employer, whose eyes were still on the other car as he took a seat in the back. “But that wasn’t _your_ plan, was it?” he guessed, knowing that Cesare wasn’t terribly fond of his older brother. He scooted onto the seat next to Cesare and closed the door.

 

“He invited himself this morning,” Cesare explained as the car began to drive. “And he’s been texting on the drive to the airport. I don’t know what he’s up to, but it’s something.”

 

The car made its way out of the airport and onto the freeway. It drove on the MacArthur Causeway, a bridge that stretched between the mainland and Miami Beach. Miami was just like he left it; last time Cesare set foot in the city was when he was just a first year in college, during his first spring break. He did all the same things college spring breakers did: underage drinking, partying on the beach and sleeping with young college women he would never see again. They drove down the main stretch of South Beach, past the bright art-deco style buildings and palm tree lined sidewalks. It was just before lunch and the streets were filled with people trying to decide where to eat. The two black identical cars pulled into the driveway of the Ritz-Carlton, down the private driveway to the front of the lobby. When they reached the entrance, a valet opened the back door. “Hello, and welcome,” the mousy haired man greeted.

 

Micheletto nodded to the valet, acknowledging him, but walked past and retrieved Cesare’s bag from the trunk. Cesare hopped out of the car, along with his driver. The driver handed the keys to the valet; Cesare, Micheletto and the driver shared an elevator with Juan and his soldiers as they made their way up to the designated floor.

 

The doors opened on the 10th floor; Michelleto and Antonio stepped out first, followed by the Borgia brothers, then their drivers. “Gonna unwind,” Juan told Cesare. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

 

“Mm-hm,” he said nothing else, and followed Micheletto to a room about six doors away from the elevator, tucked away from the main corridor. He opened the door and let Cesare in first, while the driver entered the room next door.

 

A view of the Atlantic Ocean was spread out like a painting across the room’s windows. The room was decorated in mid-century modern design, with sleek dark woods, low back off-white leather couches with splashes of rust and ocean blue on the wall art, the throw pillows and other decorative accents. A large king size bed was nestled in the separate bedroom, which sat adjacent to the main living space.

 

Micheletto placed Cesare’s bag on the foot of the bed. “Fabio and I are in the next room. So, again, how did your brother know to send his men to this hotel?”

 

“I dunno,” Cesare shook his head, scratching his chin. Private investigator? Did his brother get the information from someone inside the house? The only ones who knew were Micheletto and Fabio, but they were both here. Unless Fabio told someone back home, and in turn told Juan. He mentally noted to ask his driver to remember the meaning of ‘discreet’. “So,” he flopped down to sit next to his luggage. “What’s the situation now?”

 

“You want to know now? You don’t want to relax even a little bit?”

 

“I don’t want to be here longer than necessary. It’s too hot.”

 

“Right,” Micheletto leaned against the dresser sitting directly in front of the bed, “Well, Caterina’s compound is in South Miami somewhere. She’s been hard to track; she has decoys all over town.”

 

“Smart woman,” Cesare muttered. “She knows we’re here.”

 

“Or that’s just how she always lives. Either way, with her Rios struggling to hold power over their part of the border, her resources are slowly depleting.”

 

“She’ll weaken eventually,” Cesare laid down and closed his eyes. “See if you can contact her man, Rufio. I want a sit-down with her.”

 

“Alright,” he took that as a cue that his employer wished to be left alone. Micheletto left the room and closed the door behind him, allowing Cesare for some privacy to rest.

\--

 

“So, what is it you have to show me?”

 

“You’ll see, Chez.” Juan had called him after lunch to meet and discuss _something_. What is was exactly, Cesare wasn’t sure. Either way, he couldn’t ignore the uneasy feeling balling in his stomach.

 

Juan led Micheletto and Cesare to another suite on the 10th floor, close to Juan’s own hotel room. He opened the door to reveal the same type of furnishings as Cesare’s: dark mid-century modern woods and comfortable leather couches. “Now, you want to get Caterina out of our hair? I have just the ticket.” He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open.

 

Cesare noted two people in the bedroom. One was Maurice, Juan’s soldier and chauffeur, who was sitting on a leather chair close to the door. The second person was a young teenager sitting at the foot of the bed, watching TV. His hair was a wavy fawn hue, with matching light brown eyes, dressed in a disheveled school uniform. The teenager looked at the new occupants with careful, wide eyes. Cesare glanced over to Micheletto, whose own brow was raised in surprise.

 

Cesare narrowed his eyes. “Who is this?”

 

“Octavio Sforza.”

 

Cesare turned to Juan in disbelief. “Caterina’s son?”

 

“Her eldest. I picked him up yesterday when he left for boarding school.”

 

“You kidnapped him.” Cesare stated.

 

“Of course,” Juan smiled, rather proud of himself. “Thought he’d make a great bargaining chip.”

 

“Whatever you’re planning, it’s not gonna work. My mom won’t stoop to your level,” Octavio spat.

 

“Shut the hell up,” Juan bit back.

 

As they exchanged words, Cesare inspected the teenager more closely, noting the purple and yellow discoloration just below his right eye. He reached for the doorknob and closed it, pushing Juan back into the main living space with Micheletto and himself. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Cesare hissed in a lowered voice.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re bringing a kid into this?”

 

“He’s not just any kid, he’s her son,” Juan argued. “I just gave you an upper hand, so you’re welcome.”

 

“I didn’t need any dirty tricks like kidnapping kids!”

 

“Kids aren’t exempt from this life, Cesare,” Juan insisted. “We’re born into this life, we die in this life. That’s just the way things are.”

 

Cesare took a sharp inhale. “Fine,” he huffed, slammed his shoulder against his brother’s, and stormed out the door with Micheletto close behind. They walked through the main corridor, into the adjacent hall past the elevator and entered Cesare’s hotel room.

 

Once inside, Cesare tossed his room key on the coffee table and sat down on the leather couch. He cradled his chin in his hand. “I don’t care what Juan wants,” he disclosed to his friend. “And I definitely don’t like where this is going.” He hated the idea of tangling Octavio into this. Was it his fault that he was born from that woman? Not in the slightest. What would happen if his enemies tried to do that with Jeofre? Or worse, Lucrezia? He might literally lose all sight of reason.

 

“So, what do you think we should do?” Micheletto asked.

 

Cesare took a moment to think. And then, “How tough do you think Maurice and Antonio are?”

 

“Meaning can I take them?” Micheletto translated. “Pretty easily. Why?”

 

“I have an idea…”

\--

 

Evening fell over South Beach. The sun was barely peeking over the skyline as the crowds increased in size, filling Collins Avenue with music and screams of joy and celebration.

 

Micheletto and Cesare knocked on the door to Maurice’s hotel room. They waited for a few moments, glancing down the halls, making sure they were alone.

 

After a few seconds, the door opened, with Maurice standing on the other side. “Hi, Sir,” he addressed Cesare.

 

“Is my brother in his room? I knocked but no answer.”

 

“No, Sir, he went out. To see the sights.”

 

Sights, meaning to see if he could get lucky. “Good,” Cesare drew his pistol and pointed it directly between Maurice’s eyes.

 

Maurice stepped back, walking deeper into the hotel room. He put his hands up, palms facing Cesare. “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to put that away. My boss isn’t gonna like this.”

 

“I don’t care,” Cesare answered honestly as Micheletto closed the door behind him.

 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to put the gun away or…” Maurice spoke once more, hands still up.

 

“Or what?”

 

Maurice flinched but in the blink of an eye, Micheletto leaped, grabbing hold of Maurice’s right wrist. Cesare saw a streak of red and silver. On closer inspection, a spring-loaded concealed dagger was peaking out of Maurice’s wrist from under his sleeve. Micheletto was holding onto the soldier’s wrist tightly, changing the angle of the blade, causing Maurice to cut himself on the palm of his hand. “Not smart,” Micheletto said calmly, and used the butt of his gun to hit Maurice in the back of the head, knocking the man to the floor.

 

Cesare put his gun back in its holster and entered the bedroom through the open door. Octavio stood in defense, having watched the scene unfold in front of him. “Wh-what are you doing?”

 

“You have a cell phone?” Cesare asked him, not even addressing his question.

 

“In my backpack.”

 

“Where did they put it?”

 

“Th-the top drawer.” Octavio watched as Micheletto opened the top dresser drawer and pulled out a school backpack. “Why did you hit one of your own guys?”

 

“He’s not one of us,” Cesare took the backpack and opened it up, digging through it. He fished through and found a few papers, his wallet, some other school supply paraphernalia until he found a thin cell phone sitting in the bottom of the front pocket.

 

“Okay, then why did you hit one of your brother’s men?”

 

Cesare turned on the boy’s cell phone and dialed a number. “Because my fight is with your mom, not with you.” He pressed ‘Send’, then quickly ended the call. “Let’s go.” Cesare walked to the front door, stepping over Maurice on the way out.

 

“Don’t try anything,” Micheletto warned the teen. They followed Cesare down the hall towards the elevator doors.

 

When they got into the elevator, Cesare pulled out a sunglasses case he found in Octavio’s bag. “Here, put these on.” He tossed them to the owner.

 

Octavio placed them over his eyes; the frames and lenses were dark enough to cover the bruise he had on his face. They disembarked the hotel elevator, Micheletto first, followed by Octavio and Cesare. They walked into the lobby, past the towering columns of wood and the plush white and green leather furnishings. Cesare stopped in front of a seating arrangement closest to the lobby doors. “Sit,” he ordered.

 

Octavio took a seat onto one of the white couches.

 

Cesare handed him his bag. “Call someone to get a ride home. Use the most recent number on your call log to contact me. I want to talk to your mom. No guns. No kidnapping. I just want to make a deal.” He tossed the cell phone back to its owner and walked away.

 

“You’re letting me go?” Octavio couldn’t believe what was happening. “Just like that?”

 

“Just like that,” Cesare reiterated, turned and walked away with Micheletto close behind. They didn’t bother turning around one last time; they headed straight for the elevator and headed to the 10th floor.

 

When they left the elevator, they took a sharp right and walked down the hall until they reached the stairwell. They entered the stairwell and trekked down five flights of stairs until they reached the fifth floor. Micheletto peered out the door into the hallways and then moved forward with Cesare when the coast was clear. Micheletto pulled out a new key and opened the door down the hall, around another corridor. The room was decorated in a similar color scheme as Cesare’s previous suite, but instead of a two-room unit, it was a single room, with a pair of double beds and absent of a balcony. “You sure you want to stay here? I’m sure there’s another suite available.”

 

“She would expect a Borgia to stay at club level or penthouse level,” Cesare explained, searching for the remote and the room service menu. “And Octavio knows we were on the 10th floor, which is exclusively club level. I’m in her territory; I don’t want to take the risk in case Caterina is feeling overzealous with revenge for her son’s kidnapping.” He handed his companion the menu.

 

“Suit yourself,” Micheletto lounged onto one bed and began flipping through the menu, while Cesare sat on the other bed, channel surfing for something to watch.

\--

 

Juan sounded completely livid on the phone. There were a few words exchanged: “my work”, “not your place”, “where the hell is your new room?!” were just a few phrases that rang in Cesare’s ear.

 

Cesare entered Juan’s hotel suite, with Micheletto and Fabio close behind. Antonio was sitting down on the sofa, Maurice stood close to the balcony sliding door, while Juan stood in front of the balcony banister. The glare Maurice was sending to Micheletto and Cesare told them he was not happy to see them one bit; Cesare held back an amused smile.

 

“Who the hell gave you the right?” Juan immediately burst without a greeting. “What the hell were you thinking to let him go?”

 

“I told you already,” Cesare joined him on the balcony. “This is a fight that shouldn’t involve children.” He looked around down to the ground below them, to the Atlantic Ocean crashing onto the beach, to the pool-goers crowding into the nearby cabanas, drinks in hand, pool lit up with neon changing lights. “Besides, dealing with Caterina is my fight, not yours.” He hated it. He knew letting Octavio go was the right thing, but that didn’t mean he gave up when it came to Caterina Sforza. And he wanted it done on his terms.

 

“This is fucking bullshit!” Juan hollered. “You think I don’t know what this is about? You think that getting the upper hand on me is gonna win Dad’s favor for you? Cuz it’s not. I’ll be leader one day, I’ll be boss. And you, all you’ll be is Capo Bastone! That’s all you’re worth.”

 

Cesare took a deep breath, his fingers lacing into a fist.

 

“You’re trying so hard to get something you want, but guess what, Chez? You can’t get it. Dad, Lucy,” Juan curled his lip with a disgusted expression on his face, “You’ll never get what you want, so stop fucking trying!”

 

In one fell swoop, Cesare threw back his fist, coming in contact with Juan’s temple. Juan stepped back, but lurched forward, and threw a punch to his stomach. Cesare struggled to find air, he fought through, forced a breath through his lungs and reached out a hand to Juan’s neck, and pushed him back. Juan doubled back, his spine hitting the balcony railing. Cesare pushed harder, forcing Juan’s upper body over the railing.

 

Antonio and Maurice jumped to assist their boss, but were stopped. Fabio drew a gun and pointed it to Antonio; Micheletto did the same to Maurice. Maurice’s eyes narrowed and tested the situation; he took a half step forward. “Don’t,” Micheletto raised a brow.

 

Juan choked for air under Cesare’s grip, his eyes bulging with a mix of fear and anger. He reached for Cesare’s wrist, trying to loosen his grip. But Cesare wouldn’t budge. Like a volcano, his rage exploded through his body, his pulse raced, with blood pumping through his muscles, his eyes dilated with anger. He glared down at his older brother who was helpless under his grip, with half of his body laying in nothing but air. And for a while, Cesare wondered if a man could die while being dropped into a pool ten stories high.

 

A slow but firm hand gripped Cesare’s shoulder. “Cesare,” Micheletto called.

 

Cesare side-glanced at him. He could hear it in his friend’s voice. Calm down. Think about it. Fratricide would not wash over too well, would it? He looked back to Juan, dangling under his mercy. He took a few more moments to take a deep breath, to calm his pulse down so his head wasn’t spinning out of control. “I’m not your shadow,” Cesare told him. “Now, get your men and yourself out of Miami. You’ve interfered enough.” He took Juan by the collar and pulled him back onto his feet. Without a single glance to anyone else, Cesare walked to the exit, with Micheletto and Fabio to follow.

\--

 

Cesare expected to be woken by his cell phone’s alarm clock, not by his friend. Micheletto took hold of his shoulder and shook him gently, pulling him from dreamland. Cesare woke up abruptly, his body jolted from the disturbance. “Wh--?”

 

“It’s Caterina,” Micheletto said in a lowered voice, handing over his cell phone.

 

That woke Cesare up. He glanced at the nightstand clock: 9:00am. He grabbed the phone, but covered the mouthpiece, took a moment to clear his throat and then held the phone against his ear. “Good morning.”

 

“Good morning,” she greeted back. “How has your stay in Miami been so far?”

 

“Pretty short. I just got here yesterday.”

 

“But you’ve been quite busy these past few weeks.”

 

“Oh, you noticed?” he mocked. He kept it at that, listening to the silence on the other line.

 

And then, “My son divulged the details of the past few days to me. Of how your older brother was responsible for his kidnapping. And how you were responsible for setting him free, no strings attached. If you expect me to thank you or grovel to you, Mr. Borgia, you are mistaken.”

 

“I told your son already. I want to talk. Let’s have a sit-down,” Cesare invited. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as silence came from the other line again. Violence didn’t have to be necessary for this situation. He just wanted to make sure that she could clearly see, if she continued to stay here in the United States, he would completely destroy her cartel, therefore driving her into financial ruin. Her only option was Cuba.

 

“I’ll listen to what you have to say. Tomorrow night, 10 o’clock, the Dragonfly Supper Club in Little Havana. Public enough, and yet just enough privacy where we can chat.”

 

“I’ll see you then.” He pressed the ‘End’ button. He handed the phone back to Micheletto.

 

“I saw your brother and his men leave this morning,” Micheletto informed him, taking a seat on the bed across from his friend. He slipped his phone in his pants pocket.

 

Cesare rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. “Good riddance,” he said. But knowing Juan, he would probably tattle to his father. And then, his father was going to give him an earful. He already wasn’t looking forward to his return home. He could anticipate the same lecture: “for the good of the family”, “support your brother”, etcetera.

 

“Any word from Vitelli?” Cesare changed the subject.

 

Micheletto only shook his head.

 

Cesare took a deep breath. He would deal with that later. And his father. First thing is first: what would he do to pass the time until tomorrow night? He laid one hand in the other, his fingers rubbing the gold ring around the small finger of his left hand.

\--

 

Close to the Miami River, west of Downtown and off the freeway, the black car drove into Little Havana. The city was already dark, lit only by the streetlights above, and any residual illumination coming from the downtown area. There were still people walking around the street; not as populated as South Beach, but still just the same.

 

The car pulled up to a building, sitting at the corner of an intersection, right next door to a pharmacy. There were two women standing outside, sharing a cigarette near the entrance. There weren’t any brightly lit signs, except the single neon sign in the window that said “OPEN”. From the outside, it was a two-story building made of metal and vinyl siding and large glass windows. A single sign, an image of a purple dragonfly, sat above the open door.

 

Micheletto stepped out of the car, followed by Cesare. Fabio parked the car behind a dark burgundy Mercedes and led the way into the building.

 

There was dark brown paneling on the walls, with lush velvet covered booths and drapes of matching dark purple, almost black, velvet. A few patrons were still there, sitting either in a booth against the wall, a table in the dining room, or at the bar.

 

“Hey,” the bartender called to them. He was tall, his black hair gelled back, a spider web tattoo clearly peaking out from his V-neck tee shirt. “You guys looking for Ms. Sforza?”

 

“Yeah?” Fabio answered.

 

“Back dining room,” the bartender cocked his head to the left as he poured a shot of tequila.

 

The followed instructions, through a doorway past the bar, and down a long dark hallway. Cesare could see a restroom sign to the left, and another door to the right. A figure arrived from that other door, a short man with dark skin, and looked up to the approaching figures. He flashed them a smile, said, “Excuse,” and scurried away.

 

Cesare looked over to Micheletto. He said nothing in return, but kept his hand in his jacket, gripping the gun in its holster.

 

Something…wasn’t right.

 

Fabio stopped in front of the door opposite the restroom, turned the knob and pushed.

 

Beep…beep…beep.

 

The last thing Cesare remembered was a burst of yellow and orange light.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Note: Too lazy to read full text myself, so thank you, Wikipedia. And I'm so sorry this took forever to post!

 

Part 10

 

_She had been sitting quietly by herself in the living room, looking through her binders and pulling out a few pieces of paper. It was an unusually dreary Saturday morning; in the living room of gold and white, one couldn’t tell it was an overcast day._

_That, and she always seem to light every room she was in._

_He watched as she curled her legs up on the sofa, her planner laid out over her knees. She skimmed through a few pages in one binder, wrote something out in her planner with a pencil, moved on to another binder, and did the same. She must have gone through at least four subjects before he finally interrupted her. “What are you up to?” he walked up behind her and playfully tugged the messy braid that laid across her shoulder._

_She wasn’t startled in the slightest, just turned to face him with a smile. “I’m trying to plan out my study schedule next month. I don’t want to have any homework during spring break.”_

_“Nerd.”_

_She wrinkled her nose at him, a smile still on her face._

_He looked down to the syllabus she was referring to. At the top of the three-page packet read “12 th Year – English IV”. It was followed by teacher information, class rules, and a class schedule, including reading assignments and exams. “So, what are high schoolers reading this year?” he picked up the packet and thumbed through it, while circling the couch and sitting beside her. _

_“Some familiar things. Like Shakespeare stuff. Jane Austen. Others I haven’t heard of,” she leaned over to him and pointed at certain titles. “Like…that one.”_

_“_ Beowulf / Grendel _.”_

_“Yeah. And… Canter… where is it?” her eyes skimmed down the page._

_“_ Canterbury Tales _. Boring.”_

_“What about this one?”_

_“Aaah._ Historia Calamitatum _. That one was more interesting.”_

_“Really? Why is that?”_

_“It’s a pretty tragic autobiography. About a man who was a rising star in the scholastic world, how he felt persecuted by his peers, and how it all came crashing because he fell for a woman.”_

_She placed her planner down beside her and curled up closer to him. It was just like when they were younger, when he would tell her stories, whether it was from the Bible or Grimm’s Fairy Tales. She stared up at him with her steel eyes, paying full attention to him._

_“His name was Peter Abelard. He studied philosophy, I think. He was so good, he was debating with and winning against his teachers. And one time, he fell for a woman named Heloise, who was also a scholar. Abelard convinced her uncle to allow him to live in the house because he was too poor to live in Paris by himself, and offered to tutor Heloise for rent. So, Abelard and Heloise started this affair and she even gave birth to a kid. Her uncle found out and to appease her uncle, they agreed to marry in secret.”_

_“Why in secret?”_

_He pursed his lips. “You know, I don’t remember. Anyway, her uncle, I don’t remember why, started telling everyone about the marriage, so to protect her from the uncle, Abelard sent her to a convent. But the uncle thought Abelard sent her there to get rid of her, not to protect her. So, he and a few men attacked Abelard and castrated him.”_

_Her eyes widened in shock. “That’s a little extreme!”_

_“No kidding. Imagine all the guys cringing when we read that in class.”_

_“So, what happened? To Abelard and Heloise?”_

_“Well, he joined a monastery, she stayed in a convent. They eventually found each other and wrote to one another. But they couldn’t do anything, for religious reasons and of course his lack of…yeah. Their letters were love letters at first, but once he told her that it was lust, not love that started their affair, then the letters turned to more philosophical stuff.”_

_“Hm,” she burrowed her brow. “It seems to start as a romance. But it’s not, not really. Like Wuthering Heights. Even Romeo and Juliet. It’s supposed to be some epic love story, but something about it just isn’t right. Like how manipulative Heathcliff and Catherine were. Or how Romeo and Juliet decided to get married in one evening.”_

_He laughed. “No love story is perfect, I guess. If it were cookie cutter, it’d be boring. But think of it like this,” he added. “When Abelard died, his remains were given to Heloise. So, regardless of what historians may think happened, whether he was in love or in lust, the fact that his remains were sent to her, there was a sense of devotion between them.”_

_“True,” she nodded. She took the syllabus from him and replaced her planner back onto her lap. She glanced back at the syllabus and began to write her English schedule into her planner. She continued her task as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Epic or ordinary…I’ll take it, so long as he’s devoted.”_

_He took a deep breath and swallowed it. He pushed down the warm feelings that bubbled in his chest, the tingling sensation he felt whenever she was close. He leaned his head to the side and placed a kiss into her golden hair. “But you are Lucrezia Borgia,” he said softly, his lips brushing her hair. “You deserve extraordinary.”_

_She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, then to the fireplace in front of them. “Well,” she bit her lip with an impish smile pulled across her face. “Maybe a little extraordinary.”_

\--

 

The pain radiated from the crown of his head and all the way down his neck. He could feel the strain behind his eyes and the slight ringing in his ears. Cesare forced a deep breath into his lungs, and then another deep exhale. He managed to crack an eye open, first the left, then the right and looked up to the white ceiling above him. “Where am I?” he muttered to himself.

 

“Miami,” answered a familiar voice.

 

Cesare sideglanced, seeing his loyal friend sitting on the bed close by. They were still in Miami. They were in the hotel room. Micheletto sat quietly, his hair wet from a fresh shower, and wearing a fresh set of clothes. A bandaid was pasted across his left cheek and a length of gauze was wrapped around his left hand. He noticed the dark circles under the man’s eyes. “You look like shit,” Cesare smirked.

 

“So do you,” Micheletto responded.

 

Cesare reached his arms up to his face, noticing gauze wrapped up all the way from his right wrist to his elbow. “Agh, that bitch,” he said, rubbing his temple. A bomb. How could he have fallen for such a set-up? Wait a minute. “How’s Fabio?”

 

Micheletto looked down to his folded hands, slowly shaking his head. “There was too much shrapnel.”

 

Dammit. Cesare felt a sense of dread moving in his chest. He must have taken the full blow head on. Poor guy. He was young, too. Not even thirty yet. “How did we even survive?”

 

“We were still behind the walls in the hallway, and not in the room, thank god,” Micheletto explained. “The ceiling caved, though. I managed to get you out before any ambulance got there. I tried to go back for him, but…”

 

“No point,” Cesare finished for him.

 

“What do you want to do now?”

 

That fuckin’ Caterina. She didn’t play by the rules. Sit-downs were supposed to prevent violence and look what she did. Not only was his man killed, but what if she hurt any of the other patrons in the restaurant? Unless, they were under her payroll too. They probably did have a chance to escape, seeing how the explosion was in the back of the building. How could he have fallen for that? “I need to re-group, re-think. She’s not going down without a fight.”

 

“Hm,” Micheletto reached for Cesare’s cell phone, which sat on the nightstand. “I should also tell you, Miss Lucrezia keeps calling.”

 

The name put Cesare’s mind into focus. “What?”

 

“Madam Vanozza, too. But mostly, Miss Lucrezia. I guess word spread that Fabio is, well, dead, so they were worried about you. I told your mother that you’re alive, just a little bruised up. But I think Miss Lucrezia really wants to talk to you.”

 

Cesare slowly sat up in bed; his back cracked from the previous lack of movement. He glanced down at his left hand, down to the gold ring which still rested around his finger. Slowly, he reached his hand out for his phone; Micheletto handed it to him. Cesare pressed “2” on his speed dial and let the phone ring.

 

It didn’t take very long to answer. “Cesare!” her voice filled his head. “Oh my god, Cesare, are you alright? What happened?”

 

They were over a thousand miles away and just the sound of her voice seemed to dull the pain in his head. “I’m fine. Just bandaged up, but fine. Perfectly functioning.”

 

“We heard about Fabio and--- I was so scared---,” she took a deep breath, trying to control her voice. But he could practically hear every tear falling down her face. “When will you be back?”

 

He turned to the nightstand clock. 8am. “Hopefully, this afternoon.”

 

There was a sigh of relief on the phone. “I want to see you.”

 

“I do too,” he admitted to her.

 

Just then, her name was called on her side of the phone. “Alright,” she spoke to the other person. “Please,” she returned to the phone, “when you come back into town, let me know?”

 

“Alright.” He hung up the phone and gripped it, holding it against his temple.

 

Cesare had just brushed death. And while he slept, the only person he thought about was Lucrezia. Hearing her voice, knowing she cared for him, worried for him… it was an unbelievable comfort to him. He turned back to his friend. “How soon can the plane be ready?”

 

Micheletto shrugged. “An hour?”

 

“Good. Tell the plane--” Cesare pulled the sheets off his body and slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Pricks of pain shot up his legs and all the way up to his spine. His knees buckled and he took a moment to sit back down. “Tell the plane to be ready in two hours.”

 

“Right.”

\--

 

The jet arrived into New York by early afternoon. As the wheels touched down on the runway, Cesare released a soft breath. Finally, he was home. Cesare and Micheletto disembarked the plane and boarded the Rolls Royce waiting for them.

 

He would return to Long Island, face his brother, face his dad… but first, he needed to see her. He turned on his phone and opened up a message string.

 

**Are you at school?**

**Yes; history club. R u in NY yet?**

 

Cesare looked up to the driver. “Take me to the NYU campus.”

 

“But,” the driver protested at first, “your father wants to--.”

 

“I don’t care. I want to see my sister first.”

 

“Y-yes, sir.” The driver exited onto another freeway, heading west towards Manhattan. The familiar skyscrapers came into view, their windows reflecting the bright sun. Cesare nervously tapped his knee with a single finger, anticipating his arrival on campus. With each green light, he felt like he could take a deep breath, like he was a block closer to her.

 

When the car pulled up to the history department, a brick and mortar building wedged among many others, Cesare jumped out of the car, phone to his ear. “Lucrezia?” when the other side stopped ringing, “Are you still on campus?”

 

“I’m in the park with my friends. Near the fountain. Where--?”

 

Cesare immediately burst into a sprint, crossing the street into Washington Square Park. “Ces—shit.” Micheletto jumped out of the car and ran after him, past all the taxicabs honking their horns.

 

Cesare ran through the park, disregarding paved paths, through the grass until he slowed down to the center of the park, a paved circular clearing, with a fountain as its centerpiece, shooting water into the air like fireworks. He took a few steps to circle around the fountain. Where was she?

 

“Cesare!”

 

Cesare turned. On the other side of the water fountain, approaching him quickly, was a familiar petite female, her yellow sundress and golden hair catching wind as she ran towards him. He returned to a sprint, his heart pounding into his rib cage. She was only a few yards away.

 

Lucrezia leapt into his arms and he quickly wrapped them around her frame. He could feel his emotions boiling over, the relief, the satisfaction, the gratitude, and he held her tightly against his body. She tilted her head up to his and he kissed her face, close to the corner of her lip, on her temple, right on her hairline and back to her cheek. She wrapped her arms around his trunk, kissing his cheek and jaw feverishly. “Thank god,” she whispered, “Thank god you’re alright.”

 

They had been only apart for a few days. But what happened solidified what he already knew: he couldn’t live without her.

 

“If something happened to you,” she whispered so only he could hear, “I think I’d die.”

 

“I’m alright,” he assured as they hugged each other feverishly, “just a few scratches.”

 

Lucrezia’s fingers gently ran across the band-aid on his right brow and temple. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, her lips brushing his wounds. Cesare returned the gesture, kissing the tip of her nose, her forehead and then pulling her to his arms again, his arms tightly wrapping around her shoulders and waist.

 

He had barely noticed the group of people she left in her wake, a few friends including Alfonso. They all stared quietly, their faces puzzled or shocked. Alfonso, who remained standing, stared at the siblings from across the fountain, his brow furrowed.

 

“Let me get my things. We’ll go back home.” Lucrezia pulled away from Cesare and moved towards her group of friends. They kept hold of each other’s hands until they were a full arms distance away from one another, only letting go until their fingertips couldn’t hold onto one another. She scurried over to her friends, picked up her cell phone, her purse, gave a fleeting kiss to Alfonso on the lips, and returned to Cesare. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, she wrapped an arm around his waist, and they began to walk back to the car, with Micheletto following far enough to give them space.

 

She was here in his arms; he thanked God again.

\--

 

“Don’t misunderstand, son,” Rodrigo spoke softly. “It’s sad what happened to Fabio. I am glad you and Micheletto are safe. But--.”

 

Cesare frowned, preparing for impact.

 

“Why, why, WHY are you both at odds with one another?! AGAIN?!”

 

Knew it, Cesare frowned. Juan must have told Rodrigo what happened on the hotel balcony. And now he had to endure this as he, Rodrigo, Jeofre and Juan sat in Rodrigo’s office, doors closed to the rest of the house.

 

“You’re adults! You are family! You are brothers! You have to work together!” Rodrigo lectured. “If you did, perhaps Caterina Sforza wouldn’t have attacked like she did!”

 

“She’s stubborn, she doesn’t cave easily. If Juan had his way, he would have sent back her son in pieces! I didn’t want to involve anyone else.”

 

Rodrigo raised his brow. “ ‘Her son’?” he turned to Juan. “Son, what son, what is he talking about?”

 

Juan, who was standing against the wall with a cocky smile on his face, faltered. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I…” he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then around the room. “I _may have_ … borrowed Octavio, her son.”

 

“ ‘Borrowed’… meaning kidnapped?” the blood rushed to Rodrigo’s head. The idea didn’t escape the Borgia patriarch. “Her young, teenage son.” Before Juan could explain, Rodrigo burst, “What is wrong with you! We’re ambitious, not monsters!”

 

“I wasn’t going to cut his fingers off and send them to his mom or whatever!” Juan tried to defend himself.

 

“But you kidnapped a fifteen year old boy--.”

 

“Like I said,” Juan insisted, “I wasn’t going to hurt him. I was just going to bargain him. Tell her to go to Cuba and then I would return her son to her men.”

 

Rodrigo took a deep breath and rubbed his hands across his forehead, his fingertips stopping at his temples. “We don’t do that. We do not kidnap children. If they are of age and directly work for the family, that is who we involve.”

 

“And that’s how we got into this mess in the first place,” Juan frowned, “because somebody felt like killing Giovanni Sforza, who, even though related, wasn’t a member.”

 

Like pointing fingers would do any good now, Cesare rolled his eyes.

 

“Am I clear?” Rodrigo turned to his oldest son.

 

Juan kept his arms crossed, but nodded his head nonetheless. “Yeah, Pops.”

 

“And you,” the old man turned to Cesare. “You support your brother, you support this family. That is your duty.”

 

By then, Cesare began to tune out his father. It was a speech he had heard more times than he cared to, more times than he should have. He nodded.

 

Rodrigo stood and took a deep breath. He approached Jeofre, who had been sitting quietly, watching the argument unfold. “Please don’t give me any trouble,” Rodrigo muttered, placing a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder.

 

Jeofre pursed his lips together, trying to keep an expressionless face.

 

Cesare didn’t bother to wait for a signal that the family meeting was over. He immediately walked out the office and headed to his room. He approached his desk which sat in the corner of his room, close to his window. His laptop sat quietly on hibernate; Cesare opened it.

 

For the family. For your brother. For me.

 

No, Cesare exhaled, not anymore. He accessed his bank accounts: his American account where his stocks’ profits were pouring into and the Latin American account where Orsini was depositing his share. Cesare stared at his recent activity, at the recent transactions, of the large sums of money coming in. This can’t be traced, he told himself. From the police. From any of the associates. From his father.

 

Cesare began planning.

\--

 

It was almost midnight when Cesare received a text message from his sister.

 

**At Guilia’s apt. Alfonso’s drunk. Can you drive us back?**

 

Cesare narrowed his eyes at the text before responding: **Be there in 45.**

 

Cesare hopped up from bed and hurried downstairs, grabbing his wallet and keys in the process. As he headed towards the underground garage, Micheletto caught sight of his friend. “Going out?” Micheletto peeked out from the kitchen.

 

“Yeah. To pick up Lucrezia.”

 

“Need me to come?”

 

“I got it.”

 

“You sure?” Micheletto slipped a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Cesare hurried to the garage. He picked out the black BMW sedan and started the ignition, driving off.

 

He drove through the night, west, towards Brooklyn’s harbor. The Brooklyn Bridge was brightly lit in view as he exited into the DUMBO neighborhood, towards Giulia’s loft apartment. He pulled up in front of a five-story brick warehouse-conversion. He pulled over to park and approached the building’s front door, buzzing one of the units, looking up to the camera tucked in the corner of the entryway. Within a few moments, the door unlocked and he entered. He made his way up to the fourth floor, to the corner unit. He could hear music pouring out of the door.

 

Within a few moments, the door was opened by a young woman, tall, slender, wearing a black and white cocktail dress, and her chestnut hair pulled up in braids. “Hi,” she greeted him. “Lucrezia tried to lock him in my room… it’s not going too well.” She pointed to the door in the back corner.

 

“Alright,” Cesare walked in. She was holding a small get-together, it seemed, maybe around ten to fifteen people, mingling over snacks and alcohol. “So, it was perfectly fine for the Commissioner’s underage son to drink?”

 

“Hey,” Giulia raised a perfectly plucked brow, “it’s not like kids don’t drink in college parties or dorms or whatever. I even invited him to sleep it off here. But,” she followed Cesare towards her bedroom, “then he started drinking more, then he started getting loud. You get the idea.”

 

“Got it,” Cesare opened the door to Giulia’s bedroom to find Lucrezia and Alfonso inside.

 

They froze and turned, looking at the now open door, and Cesare and Giulia who were now occupying the open doorway. “Cesare.” A sigh of relief barely escaped Lucrezia’s mouth.

 

Cesare’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Did he just walk into an argument?

 

“Oooh, speak of the devil!” Alfonso burst. “Time to be a badass and save his sister!”

 

Cesare looked to his sister. Lucrezia crossed her arms and shrugged. She looked back at him, her eyes a little more shiny, a little glassier than how they normally looked, her cheeks pink. Cesare could feel the frustration looming over her, almost like a dark cloud around her body. “Come on,” Lucrezia reached out to Alfonso’s shoulder, “let’s get a ride home.”

 

Alfonso shrugged his shoulder, dismissing her hand. “Nope, nope.”

 

Cesare took a step forward. “C’mon, Alfonso, time to---.”

 

“No, no, no, no, no!” Alfonso stepped back, his voice growing louder. “Don’t talk to me like we’re cool, cuz we’re not. Bro. We’re not!” He stepped up to Cesare, invading his space. “You think I don’t listen? You think I don’t hear what people are saying?”

 

Giulia closed the door.

 

“Gossip is everywhere. Buzz. Buzz. My friends. Her friends.”

 

Cesare could smell the alcohol reeking from his breath.

 

“ ‘ey saying you,” he poked Cesare in the chest, “and her” he pointed to his girlfriend, “have been that way for as long as they’ve known her. That it’s not normal. Royal families used to marry their first cousins and shit but that was centuries ago. But that’s not done. Not in America.”

 

“Okay,” Cesare tried to cut him off, “You’re done.”

 

“You know what they also told me,” he turned to Lucrezia. She tried to keep her stance, arms crossed, but he moved in closer to her so he was only a step from her. “They told me,” his voice was low, but loud enough for the room occupants to hear, “that your first time was with him.”

 

Lucrezia’s glassy eyes widened.

 

“Isn’t that gross?” Alfonso sneered.

 

Cesare’s mind went red. His rage poured into every artery, every capillary. He rushed to Alfonso and grabbed hold of his shoulder, turning him, and then punching him square in the face. Lucrezia nearly jumped.

 

“Oh geez,” Giulia muttered, standing in front of the closed door.

 

With one blow, Alfonso fell back, unconscious, landing on Giulia’s neatly made queen-size bed.

 

Cesare looked up to his sister. She turned away from Alfonso momentarily, wiping the corner of her eye. “Drunk people can say the meanest things,” she muttered.

 

Cesare approached her and reached for her. He held her by the shoulders first, then reached his fingers to her chin, coaxing her to face him. He could still read the hurt expression painted all over her face. He wanted to comfort her somehow, hold her, kiss her, something. But remembering Giulia was right there, and not knowing exactly what Lucrezia tells her, Cesare cradled Lucrezia’s cheek in his hand, stroking the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “Let’s take him to the car.”

 

Lucrezia nodded.

 

They pulled Alfonso between them, one of Alfonso’s arms draped over Cesare’s shoulders, the other arm draped over Lucrezia’s.

 

“Ready?” Giulia asked. When they nodded, she opened the door.

 

A few of the guests stared, completely horrified or shocked, as the siblings dragged Alfonso’s unconscious body out of Giulia’s bedroom. “He’s such a lightweight,” Cesare flashed a smile at the onlookers. They seemed to have bought it; their expressions changed to stifling a laugh and continued on with their conversations.

 

They all made their way to the door. “Do you need help?” Giulia offered.

 

“That’s alright,” Lucrezia insisted. “We got this.”

 

“Alright. Well, take care.” She opened the door for them and closed it when they entered the hallway.

 

Cesare and Lucrezia dragged an unconscious Alfonso through the building and out onto the streets. Cesare’s car was still parked outside. He handed Lucrezia the keys. “Put him in the back.” She opened the door and crawled into the back seat. Cesare carefully lowered Alfonso in the car, while Lucrezia minded his head and legs.

 

When he was securely and neatly inside, Lucrezia buckled him in a seatbelt and joined Cesare in the front seat. “He lives pretty close by,” she pulled out her cell phone from her clutch, pulling up directions. She directed him into the next neighborhood over, Brooklyn Heights. The car made its way down a street parallel to a park, past an old church, and finally, he parked in front of a classic brownstone house, complete with a staircase entrance of iron and an American flag hanging proudly near the front door. Together, they pulled him out of the car and walked up the stoop to the front door. Lucrezia rang the doorbell.

 

After a few moments, the door opened. A woman in her mid-40’s, with dark hair pulled in foam curlers, dressed in a satin pink robe, opened the door.

 

“Hello,” Lucrezia sheepishly greeted.

 

“…Honey! A little help here,” Alfonso’s mother called over her shoulder, all while staring at her unconscious son.

 

From the kitchen emerged the commissioner, dressed for bed. “What the devil--?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Lucrezia apologized. “We were at a party but he started drinking. I wanted to bring him home, just in case, you know, he was seen.”

 

“Thank you,” the mother addressed her. “Honey,” she looked to her husband.

 

The commissioner reached for his son, unburdening Cesare from the weight. “And you are--.”

 

“Her brother,” Cesare answered.

 

“Oh. Your family made a very hefty contribution to the ball a few months back.”

 

“Just wanting to help any way we can,” Cesare answered in his most humble tone he could muster.

 

“Would you like something to drink?” Alfonso’s mother courteously offered.

 

“No, thank you,” Lucrezia refused politely. “It’s late. We all need rest.”

 

“Alright. Thank you again. Drive safe,” Alfonso’s mother closed the door and assisted her husband with their son.

 

Lucrezia pivoted on her heels and released a long sigh, as if she was holding her breath for some time. She and Cesare entered the car once more for the drive home.

 

As they drove down the freeway, he watched her from the corner of his eye. How the street lights zoomed by, briefly illuminating her face, and then clouding her into darkness. She continued to stare out the window, elbow on the armrest, fingernails brushing her lips. She looked as if she was anxious, her head spinning in thoughts. About what Alfonso said to her? Probably. He reached his right hand to her left as he drove. She didn’t look up or move at the physical contact. Her only reaction was returning his grip, her eyes still out at the night sky.


	12. Chapter 12

Note: Inspired by Culture Coffee’s website. The coffee shop had high reviews and was close to Bank of America.

 

Part 11

 

It felt like a gentle breeze, tickling, caressing his bare chest. It started from his hand which rested over his stomach, up his abdomen to his chest.

 

The breeze’s touch, he soon realized, was actually a set of warm fingertips.

 

Someone was in his room. Lying beside him.

 

Cesare forced his eyes open and reached his hand out to his company’s throat, wrapping his fingers around the neck.

 

She smiled at him, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

 

Immediately, his senses sharpened and his conscience reasoned with him. It was barely morning. He was in his own bedroom in Long Island, with his usual Italian Opera softly playing in the room. The air around him smelled like vanilla. And his sister, clad in a thin white camisole, matching shorts, and an open robe, was lying beside him. “Relax,” she smiled, his fingers still laced around her neck, “It’s just me,” she whispered.

 

Cesare looked at her body up and down, how she laid lazily on her side, pressed beside him, how her long golden, wavy hair cascaded down to his pillows. His heart began to pound harder. He tilted his wrist, angling her head up, exposing the column of her neck. He craned his face up to her neck, her pulse underneath his lips. His teeth grazed her skin and she breathed a delighted moan, sending chills down his spine, before kissing her on her neck, the crook of her neck, and then her collarbone before locking eyes with her again.

 

That same amused smile sat on her face. “You know just how to tease your little sister, don’t you?” Lucrezia propped her head up, resting it on her hand.

 

“You know how to tease your brother,” he traced lines with his fingertips down her shoulder to her hand, and then grasped her hand, resting it on his chest.

 

Her smile faded slightly, and her fingertips started drumming over his heart. “I had a nightmare. That it wasn’t Fabio who suffered in the explosion…”

 

She didn’t need to say anything else. He pulled Lucrezia’s hand closer to his face, dotting her fingertips with kisses.

 

“This life,” she spoke softly, “it might kill us. Won’t it?”

 

Us. One another? Or them as a unit? This life was a pledge; the only way to escape was death. He had accepted years ago that might be his ultimate fate, a young death. And her, although she never took any blood oath, she was born into this world. And as for them…well, what were they? Siblings? Lovers? Those words couldn’t exist simultaneously, not in their world. Not so long as the world saw Lucrezia Borgia as Cesare Borgia’s little sister. “I want to make sure it doesn’t,” he answered her as he decided to change subjects. “When I was unconscious, I dreamt about you.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah,” he answered. “It was a memory, actually. When I told you about Abelard and Heloise? How you said you wanted a genuine love…”

 

She let out a short giggle. “And you said I deserve extraordinary. I remember. I think, though, that I have both. Something genuine and extraordinary.”

 

Cesare brought Lucrezia’s fingers to his lips again, holding the tip of her middle finger softly in between his teeth. “You do?”

 

Lucrezia pulled her hand out of his grasp and wrapped it towards the back of his neck, pulling Cesare to her. “Almost,” she whispered as they entered one another’s space, catching each other’s breath. He caught her scent again, of vanilla and soap, his sister’s scent that always sent his pulse racing, and his insides into a fever. Cesare wanted to touch her again, to feel her again… All she had to do was give him the word.

 

He concealed his dismay when she pulled away, rubbed his nose softly with her own, and stood from the bed. She wrapped her robe tightly around her body and tied it closed with a satin robe belt. “I’ll see you downstairs?” she smiled at him. He watched her leave his room, tiptoeing to the dark hall, closing the door behind her. Cesare let out a frustrated sigh.

\--

 

Cesare told his driver to drop him off to Niccolo Machiavelli’s office. However, as soon as his driver was out of sight, he began to walk south, down 6th Avenue, and then turning left on West 38th. On his right side was a small coffee shop, wedged in a grey stone building, close to a yoga studio.

 

He entered the space, a small coffee house with butcher-block tables, metal chairs, and walls covered in white and grey damask wallpaper. The ceilings were tall with thin track lighting, exposing the air ducts, and a crystal glass chandelier acted as the centerpiece of the dining space. He looked around the busy café and saw Micheletto sitting against the wall, a copy of the New York Times was in hand, a mug of black coffee in the other. Cesare sat down across from his friend. “Working hard?”

 

“Of course,” Micheletto finished a sip. “Just doing my rounds.”

 

By rounds, Cesare knew he meant collecting recent bets from bookies. “I need you to do me a favor. And it needs to be done soon.”

 

Micheletto folded the newspaper in quarters and placed it down on the table, paying full attention.

 

Cesare picked up the newspaper and opened it up to the front page. “I need some back-up plans. Various ones.”

 

Micheletto looked at him carefully. “Sure. Is this because of Miami?”

 

“Partly,” Cesare responded honestly, “It never hurts to be prepared. But I need it soon. I just have this gut feeling,” he opened up the front section of the newspaper to its second page, skimming the content. With the open newspaper concealing his torso, Cesare slipped a small envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and slipped it in the folds of the newspaper. He refolded the newspaper up in quarters once again and placed it back down on the table. “I have this gut feeling. I need to get out.”

 

Micheletto glanced at the paper and placed his hand over it, tapping it once with his thumb. His eyebrow rose. “Where?”

 

“Start in Europe. Big cities. Somewhere so we can blend.”

 

Micheletto nodded. “How many?”

 

“Doesn’t matter, whatever connections you have over there.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“Indefinitely.”

 

Micheletto nodded slowly. “You weren’t kidding by needing to get out, huh?” he tucked the newspaper into his laptop case, and zipped his bag up.

 

Cesare stood to his feet. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

 

Micheletto nodded to him and took a sip of coffee as Cesare made his exit.

\--

 

They had the house all to themselves. Their parents were out for a romantic weekend vacation, Juan was in Washington D.C. with Maria, and Jeofre was spending the night over with his friends at the Jersey Shore.

 

Times like this, when the house was quiet, with only the two of them, and the house staff was quietly off into bed, he cherished it dearly. In their youth, they would sneak into one another’s rooms and read to each other, listen to music, and enjoy each other’s company.

 

Things were different now, Cesare mused quietly. It was innocent before. When they would lie like this in her bed, her head propped up with pillows near her headboard, while he laid across, his head resting on her flat stomach, their fingers intertwined… Now, with the knowledge of what each other’s bodies look and feel like underneath their clothes, it promoted a thick air of want and longing. He couldn’t shake it.

 

“I spoke to Alfonso,” she broke their silence.

 

It had been almost a week since the incident at Giulia’s party, when Alfonso, in a drunken stupor, accused them of, well, the truth. “And? Is everything alright?”

 

She shook her head. “He acts fine when we’re in a group, but when we’re alone, he looks at me. Like he knows, and he wants to hear it from my lips. He’s waiting for me to say it, almost.”

 

“To say what?” Cesare’s eyes turned to her canopy drapes above him. “That we’re family and that we’re close? What’s the big deal?”

 

“You know exactly what the big deal is,” she smirked down at him, but it quickly disappeared. “I just… how am I supposed to continue this when he suspects?”

 

“Maybe you can convince Dad he’s not a good prospect?” Cesare suggested. “Tell Dad you’ll find someone new, someone better. Like… a governor’s son. Something.”

 

“I could date every important son in the entire country, but he’ll still be the wrong guy,” she told him as she combed her fingers through his hair. “It’s a shame, though. He’s a nice guy and he’s good to me…when he’s not drunk.”

 

A jealous green monster began to grow inside his chest again. He had always hated the idea of her dating these other men for the sake of the family. He didn’t like sharing her, he never did. And although he knew she loved him, the idea of her dating, sleeping, even marrying another man made his skin crawl. If he had his say, she would be his alone. He held onto her hand tighter.

 

Cesare then thought about the request he asked from Micheletto earlier that week. “Then, we’ll get out of here,” he turned to his side, elevating his torso up with his elbow. “Leave the States, go to some city in Europe. Where no one knows who we are and no one cares.”

 

Lucrezia giggled at the notion.

 

But he continued. “We’ll be different people, away from here, and start over.”

 

Lucrezia reached out to her brother’s face and caressed it tenderly. “Papa wouldn’t like it. Us leaving.”

 

“I could make it happen though,” Cesare told her. “Just say the word.” He turned his head, placing a kiss on the inside of her palm.

 

She moved, sitting up with her knees tucked under her chin. “You’re crazy,” she smiled affectionately and leaned forward, their foreheads pressing one another. She took a deep breath as her lips hovered over his--.

 

Just then, the sounds of yelling and scuffling were heard through the silent house. Cesare and Lucrezia jumped, both sitting up in bed. “Wait here,” Cesare told her and headed to the door, slowly opening it. He walked down the dark hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs. There, downstairs in the dimly lit entrance foyer, was Alfonso, being held down by Micheletto. He was hollering, demanding to be released. Some of the other maids and butlers had woken up to the commotion; they had crowded in the hallway to watch.

 

This was bad. “It’s alright, Micheletto, let him go,” and then Cesare ordered to the rest of the staff, “Nothing to worry about. You can go rest.” He waited for them all to clear the hallway and out of sight before he nodded to his friend, signaling to release him. “What are you doing here, Alfonso? It’s late.”

 

“Oooh-ho. Did I interrupt something?”

 

Cesare narrowed his eyes again. Was he drunk again? Did he drive here, drunk? He remained at the top of the steps as Alfonso slowly staggered to the steps and made his way up, one step at a time.

 

“You know, I kept thinking to the time we first met,” Alfonso started, “and how you came off as a dick.”

 

Micheletto slowly creeped up behind Alfonso, ready to strike. Cesare held his hand up, signaling him to stand down, so Micheletto stayed stationery at the bottom of the steps.

 

“At first, I thought it was over-overpro-,” Alfonso hiccupped, “-tectiveness. Fine. Turns out, you had her before then, didn’t you?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cesare told him.

 

“Oh, I do,” Alfonso was halfway up the steps. “Because the entire time,” he kept walking forward, “when she talked about you, when she was around you, she looked different. And a guy’s gotta wonder, ‘Does she look like that when she’s talking about me, her boyfriend?’ Turns out…” he shrugged, overexaggerating his shoulders and hands so they were straight out, fully extended from his body. “Nope. Not even close!”

 

“So, what are you here to do?” Cesare asked. “To talk? To fight?”

 

“Noooo,” Alfonso reached the top of the stairs, a few feet from Cesare. “There’s only one way people like you communicate.”

 

People like you?

 

Alfonso lunged at the Borgia at full speed before Cesare realized it. He tilted his body, and leaned back, pushing his assailant to the floor. A shot of pain rippled through Cesare’s hip and left leg. When he looked down, he saw a cut had manifested, filling with blood. Cesare looked to his attacker, who was now on his stomach, grabbing a butterfly knife he had dropped on the ground. He jumped on Alfonso, tried to grab the knife as well, but Alfonso tucked it under his body, preventing Cesare from any access. Alfonso used one arm to lift himself up slightly, giving him enough space to cross his other arm across his chest, and tried to stab Cesare in his blind spot. Cesare pivoted on his knees over Alfonso, throwing all his weight on his right leg. He hooked a hand around Alfonso’s elbow, trying to pull his arm. They scuffled and fought, Alfonso lost his grip on the floor and he fell flat on his stomach. Alfonso let out a struggled groan.

 

Cesare watched with wide eyes as blood began to pool to the floor.

 

“Oh—no!” came a cry down the hallway. A horrified Lucrezia ran from her doorway to the injured man. “No, no. Alfonso!”

 

Cesare looked down in disbelief. “It-it was an accident,” he tried to tell her, but wasn’t sure if it caught her ears. And he noticed that a small part of him was actually glad this happened.

 

“Cesare,” Micheletto ran up behind him. “We got to take him inside.”

 

“My room,” Cesare volunteered.

 

Micheletto carried Alfonso in his arms, into Cesare’s room. He carefully placed him down on the bed. Lucrezia and Cesare had followed, closing the door behind them. She pulled off her robe and sat beside her boyfriend. Alfonso, eyes wide with shock and fear, was still clutching onto the knife he landed on.

 

She bit her lip, trying to keep her composure. “You have to let go,” she pried his hand to loosen slightly and she pulled on his wrist. His hand pulled the blade out and he dropped it to his side. The absence of the knife caused more blood to pool out; she used her robe to press on his abdomen, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay,” she repeated. She turned to the two other men in the room. “We have to bring him to a hospital! Call the ambulance! Something!”

 

Micheletto looked over to his employer and friend. He quickly and discreetly shook his head, as if he never did it, but Cesare had already agreed. “We can’t. A suspected mob family bring in the Commissioner’s son? Like this? Everything we’ve done has been well under the radar or mostly legal. We’re giving them an excuse to watch our every move if we call the ambulance.”

 

Lucrezia’s mouth dropped, her eyes dripping with tears. “So, you expect me to just… just watch him… Oh god…” she began to cry harder as Alfonso’s warm blood soaked into the robe, underneath her fingertips.

 

Alfonso coughed and gurgled.

 

“We have to help him somehow!” Lucrezia wiped a few stray tendrils away from her face, streaking her cheek with blood.

 

Cesare flinched. He reached over to her and he took hold of her by the shoulders, pulling her off the bed. “We have to think about this for a moment,” he explained to her. “He is picked up, injured, from the house of a possible crime family, or crime family employees show up with him at the hospital. Why was he stabbed?”

 

“Just tell them the truth! That he came here for an attack.”

 

“And why would he attack me? What do we tell the police?”

 

Lucrezia wiped a few more tears with the back of her hand, looking down. It would reveal them, he tried to tell her. It would ruin their secret. “If word gets out of us, you would be a target,” he lowered his voice for her ears only. “Our enemies try to find weaknesses to get to us. You’ve been surrounded by guards all your life because of Dad’s precaution, but the moment you become involved with me also…” He tried to put it another way. “There’s a reason why Mom always stays home or is always well-guarded. She’s Dad’s greatest weakness.” He stepped closer to her, his fingertips gently grazing over the column of her neck. “If anything happens to you, I’d die.”

 

Her eyes narrowed on the left side of his hip. “You’re injured…” her brow furrowed, realizing his cut was caused by the same knife.

 

“Nevermind, that’ll heal,” Cesare told her. “Do you understand, though? We’re out of options here.”

 

She had closed her eyes briefly, trying to weight out all options and assess the situation. When it dawned on her, “Get out,” Lucrezia ordered.

 

Micheletto and Cesare looked at one another.

 

“Get out, I said,” she ordered again, more tears falling down her face, as she stepped back from her brother.

 

Cesare agreed and looked back over to his friend. They stepped out of the room and closed the door behind them. What was she planning?

 

“I’m…” Micheletto looked down the hall, down to the spot where Alfonso fell. “I’m gonna get some bleach.” He walked down the hall and disappeared from view.

 

Meanwhile, Cesare waited outside his bedroom door. He could hear two voices, a few coughs, whispering to one another behind sealed walls. Was she telling Alfonso her last goodbyes? Sorry for putting you in the middle of my family’s game?

 

He heard a muffled cry through the wooden door. A female muffled cry. Oh no. She didn’t--!

 

Cesare threw the door open and saw Lucrezia sitting up in his bed, with Alfonso still lying beside her. Alfonso’s hand was on his knife again, and his knife was once again on his body. Lucrezia held her head down and she pulled her bloodied hands away from Alfonso’s. Cesare hurried to his sister, checking her wrists, her neck, and the rest of her body for any self-inflected wounds. He almost sighed in relief, realizing that the blood on her hands and face were not her own, but Alfonso’s.

 

Her tears created trails through the blood on her cheeks. “Is this how it feels?” she asked out loud.

 

Murder, Cesare mused. He nodded.

 

“I’ll never be cleaned from this,” she told him, her eyes on her hands.

 

His eyes softened as he looked at her. “You will.” He walked over to his ensuite bathroom and grabbed a washcloth. He wet the cloth in water and began to wonder why there was a sense of relief in his body? Because Alfonso Aragon was gone. The man their father told her to pay attention to, was gone. She was relieved from any obligations to him, opening herself up to new possibilities. To Cesare.

 

He walked back to her, took a seat beside her and began to clean her skin. Cesare wiped the blood off her cheeks, “You’ll be clean from this…” he told her, and he gently grasped the back of her knee, wiping the blood from her thigh, “and bloodless…” his hands slowed down at the skin of her thighs, feeling how warm the skin of her inner thigh was. He looked up to her as he pulled on the back of her knee, pulling her whole body closer to him. He wiped a spot he missed on her neck, breathing into her ear, “…and mine.” Cesare leaned into her neck, his teeth grazing against her pulse again, before leaving trails of kisses all over the column of her neck.

 

Lucrezia shuddered under his touch, taking in a deep breath. But with each kiss, she slowly gave in; she tilted her head and her lips met Cesare’s. She pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing all air between them, as Alfonso’s vacant, lifeless eyes stared out towards Heaven.


	13. Chapter 13

Notes: This long chapter is Rated M. In this portion, you won’t find any references to the series. Except Heloise d’Argenteuil and Peter Abelard, again, because Cesare is obsessed with them and ships them hard. Also, I don’t speak Italian. 

 

Epilogue

 

He had always been an early riser, but being here made him embrace a slower paced life. In a lifestyle where one didn’t have to work in order to live, he could afford crawling out of bed a few minutes later.

 

They would start their day off together. He placed a kiss on her forehead, pulling her fully into reality. She would look at him, a soft smile on her face and she would rustle her fingers through his short dark hair. They would eat breakfast together, coffee with milk, some bread, some fresh fruit and possibly some yogurt if they had an exhausting night before. After breakfast, they would sit on the couch and watch the morning news; he would check his bank accounts on his laptop before joining her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her.

 

After an early lunch, it was time to get ready. They would brush their teeth, she would quickly put some makeup on, he wouldn’t bother shaving his stubble unless it was too long (she had told him once that she likes a shadow, not a beard), and they would dress and leave the apartment together.

\--

 

_The body of Alfonso Aragon, son of New York City Commissioner Aragon, was found early morning in Queens. His car was stopped close to a park; a homeless man saw his face through the windshield and reported the body. The keys were still in the ignition, his wallet in his pocket was stuffed with only a few dollars, a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the passenger’s side seat, and a butterfly knife in his hand, drenched in his blood._

_What was he all the way in Queens for?_

_The policemen on the case interviewed his family first. Then, his friends at school followed. They even spoke to his new girlfriend, Lucrezia Borgia._

_“I was home,” she answered them when asked of her whereabouts._

_“Was there anyone at home with you?” the officer asked._

_“All the maids, the butlers, my brother. We were all here…” she spoke softly with tears rolling down her face._

_The autopsy report said the wounds were self-inflicted._

_\--_

_The funeral was a particularly solemn one. One by one, loved ones passed his closed casket, leaving a red rose on the polished oak casket. His mother weeped, his father held onto her tightly._

_Lucrezia attended the funeral with her mother by her side. The young woman was dressed in a knee-length fit and flare black dress, black gloves and had her hair gathered up in a large brimmed hat. She covered her teary eyes with large black sunglasses; her mother kept handing her tissue to wipe her eyes. When it was Lucrezia’s turn to leave a rose on his casket, she left a small package tied to a red rose._

_Through the black mesh, if anyone bothered to look closely, one could see a thin gold bangle bracelet lying quietly inside._

_\--_

_“Do you think you can join us for dinner?” Vanozza’s voice could be heard echoing through the entrance foyer._

_“We’ll see.”_

_Then, a set of heels clicked away, signaling Vanozza was leaving the room._

_Cesare was already heading up the stairs to his room when he stopped in the hallway, stopped at the sound of her voice. He quietly turned and moved towards the top of the steps, to the open landing looking over the entrance foyer._

_Their father had emerged, and he was embracing his only daughter. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said to her, rubbing her back to comfort her._

_Lucrezia hugged her father back, her large brimmed hat in one hand, her sunglasses in the other._

_Cesare could see her cheeks and nose, blotched red from crying._

_“He seemed like a good boy,” Rodrigo said, and cradled her face in his large, strong hands._

_She could only manage a small smile and matching nod._

_“When you’re ready to talk, let’s,” Rodrigo told her. “We will have much to discuss by then.”_

_Lucrezia kept her face completely still from any emotion. But Cesare could see, even from that far, the fire that was flaring in her eyes. Alfonso had been in the ground for only two hours and her father was already thinking of finding a new man for her to meet? She nodded her head and let Rodrigo place a kiss on her brow; he left for his office, the sound of the french doors echoing through the silent house._

_Cesare watched as Lucrezia walked up towards the stairs, towards him. She paused at the top of the steps, and stared straight to the floor, right where the fatal fight occurred. She looked up to him, her eyes filled with pain, anger, and desperation… But to who? To him?, he feared. She pulled herself away from his gaze and she walked down the hall. Her hand reached for the nape of her neck and she began pulling the pins out of her hair, causing her hair to tumble down, covering her back. Cesare walked at a slower pace behind her, careful, as if not wanting to alarm her. He noticed she had stopped in from of her door when she turned to look at him again._

_“That night,” she said very softly, so only he could hear. “You said to just say the word.”_

_That night. When he told her to run away together. “Yeah?”_

_“How fast?”_

_“Tonight, if you want.”_

_She nodded. “Dinner with the family first.”_

_“Then how about very late? At two. While everyone sleeps.”_

_She nodded, her eyes down to the floor as she entered her room._

_His heart began to beat harder._

\--

 

They locked their apartment and walked down the street, hand in hand. They walked down the street, on the bridge that spanned over the Tiber River, and entered the neighboring district, Campo de Fiori. They would walk down the main street of the district for another fifteen minutes, with cars and mopeds zooming by, before they reached a trattoria tucked in its own small plaza, just off the main street, in a building of white stone.

 

“You lovebirds are almost late!” their boss greeted them with a smile.

 

They only laughed it off, pulled their aprons on, and got to work.

\--

 

_Not much was said during dinner. Her parents tried to not talk to Lucrezia, unless it involved wanting more food or drink. Juan kept the conversation going, kiss and telling about his latest escapades with Maria in Washington D.C. Even Jeofre was keeping conversation off Lucrezia, talking to them about how he was considering philosophy as his major._

_All while, Cesare kept silent, quietly realizing this was the last time they would be sitting with their family at this dinner table, in the very house they grew up in._

_He waited patiently, and finally heard a soft knock on his door at 1:45 in the morning. Cesare answered the door and saw Micheletto standing on the other side. “Is everyone asleep?”_

_Micheletto nodded and headed to the opposite door, knocking with the same amount of softness. Lucrezia opened her bedroom door. “Are you ready, Miss?” Micheletto asked._

_“Can you help me with my bag?” she requested._

_Micheletto walked into her room and retrieved a large rollaway, careful to keep it off the floor so it wouldn’t make any noise. With a backpack on her back and her sneakers in hand, she emerged in a pair of skinny jeans, a long sleeve blouse and zip front hoodie, and socks on her feet. Cesare was also dressed in the same manner: dark sweater, t-shirt, and indigo distressed jeans, his shoes also in hand. He grabbed his backpack, his duffel and they walked without a single word, to the car waiting outside. Micheletto helped them pack the luggage in the car as they slipped on their shoes at the front door._

_They drove away, headlights off, until they reached the main road, with Micheletto on the driver’s side, Cesare beside him, and Lucrezia in the back._

_“There,” Micheletto pointed to the briefcase at Cesare’s feet, “it’s everything you need.”_

_Cesare pulled the briefcase up onto his lap and opened it. Inside were various documents and supplies: passports, birth certificates, various denominations of euros, and a few cell phones. There was also a pair of house keys, taped to a few maps and instructions._

_“It’s in the Trastevere,” Micheletto explained as he drove. “South of St. Peter’s. One bedroom, one bath. Not anything like the Borgia Estate but it has everything you need to start making it home.”_

_“It’s perfect,” Cesare could feel the adrenaline rushing through him._

_“Trastevere?” Lucrezia leaned forward, spotting the map in Cesare’s hand. “In Rome? That’s where we’re going?”_

_“Yup.” Was she okay with that? He thought she had always wanted to go._

_But her eyes softened and a ghost of a smile appeared on her face._

_“In the back folder are some other plans, in case Rome doesn’t work out for you,” Micheletto noted. Cesare pulled out said back folder and saw various cities written on manila envelopes, all stuffed with the same types of documents: London, Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Athens, Prague, Oslo, Amsterdam, just to name a few._

_“We’ll make Rome work,” Lucrezia insisted from the back seat. “Rome is perfect.”_

_Cesare glanced over his shoulder and she mustered a smile for him._

_The car arrived at the airport, and the private chartered jet was warmed up, ready to leave. The skycaps assisted in packing their luggage inside the plane’s cabin; Micheletto supervised, making sure they got the luggage inside._

_Lucrezia stood quietly in the cold, early morning New York air, eyes towards the John F. Kennedy Airport terminals. She remained absolutely still, in front of the plane’s entrance, watching blinking red and green lights dot the sky._

_Cesare stepped up to her. “You’re positive about this?” There was no going back. Say goodbye to the family, to school, to New York, to life as she knew it._

_She turned to him, pulled from her trance and nodded to him. A sense of relief washed over him._

_“Plane’s ready to leave,” Micheletto walked up from behind them. “All they need is you two.”_

_Immediately, Lucrezia jumped towards Micheletto, her arms around his shoulders, locking him in an embrace. “Thank you,” she told him. “You’ve been so good to us.”_

_He was taken aback at first, and then returned the gesture by wrapping his hands to her back momentarily. “Please take care, Miss Lucrezia.”_

_She pulled away, and looked up again to the awaiting jet._

_“Well,” Micheletto turned to Cesare, “the plane’s records say it’s headed for Hawaii, so no worries.”_

_Cesare looked at his employee, his friend… he didn’t realize that goodbye was going to be this difficult. They looked at each other thoughtfully for a few silent moments before Cesare took a deep breath and spoke, “Thanks. For everything.”_

_“No problem,” Micheletto looked down momentarily. “It’s been fun.”_

_No more talks. No more hanging out. No more seeing one another. “You’ve always had my back, it’ll be weird not having you around, lurking in the shadows,” Cesare scratched his brow._

_“I’ll always have your back.” Micheletto tried his best to pull a smile on his face, but it appeared as a grimace. The two men hugged, giving one another a firm pat on the back. “Take care of each other,” Micheletto requested. “And… just worry about her now. I’ll worry about them here.”_

_Them. Dad. Mom. Juan. Jeofre. The staff. “Thanks,” Cesare said again, “You have no idea how… how much...” For some reason, Cesare felt at a lost of words._

_Micheletto nodded. “I know.” He glanced over to Lucrezia, who was standing at the base of the steps, ready to board the plane. “Go on.”_

_A sad smile made its way to Cesare’s face as he turned and joined his sister. They entered the plane, a small private jet, clad in beige leather seats, a beige leather couch, and dark wood veneer tables. Lucrezia took a seat towards the back, into an oversize leather chair. She placed her backpack down close to her feet. Cesare sat opposite to her, across the table, directly facing her._

_“Ready to go, Sir? Miss?” the pilot asked._

_“Yes. Let’s go,” Cesare answered. The plane door closed and within a few moments, the plane’s wheels began to roll. He could see Micheletto still standing against the car, watching them with crossed arms. His figure grew smaller and smaller until finally, the plane approached the runway at high speed, ascending into the dark velvet sky. Micheletto and New York soon disappeared from view._

_It was strange, Cesare thought. He didn’t think he would miss New York as much as he did. A heavy feeling entered his chest as the clouds covered the view, changing the scene from a network of lights on the ground, to a cluster of stars in the sky._

_And then, he heard a soft giggle. He turned to his sister, her hands over her small smile, her eyes glassy from unshed tears._

_He hadn’t heard that sound in almost two weeks. It was like he released a sigh of relief._

_“Do you remember,” Lucrezia began, “when we were younger, and I told you I wanted to run away? To L.A., I think. Even though L.A. was really a tent in the backyard.”_

_Cesare nodded. He remembered everything involving her._

_“And I stomped up to Papa, and I hollered ‘I’m running away! And I’m bringing Cesare with me!’”_

_A smile made its way onto his lips. “Yeah. He just laughed at us.”_

_“I just remembered that,” she mused softly, her eyes on her folded hands. “Who would have thought?”_

_\--_

_It was late afternoon when they arrived in Rome’s airport. The taxi took them from the terminal into the city. With each passing site, Cesare could see her eyes light up. Businesses were just opening, starting their dinner hours. Waiters were setting up umbrellas outside, and lighting candles in the center of the patio tables. The streets slowly began to fill with tourists and locals. Retail shops began to close._

_The old buildings. The fountains. The piazzas. The textured history this city possessed. Lucrezia’s eyes were filled with wonder and amazement._

_The taxi pulled up to an old stucco building in a few blocks north of the Saint Maria Piazza. It stood at five-stories, decorated with vines, cracks and balconies with green shutters. Cesare paid the driver, pulled out their luggage and the taxi drove off. Cesare fiddled with two keys as they stood at the green double doors. First try didn’t work; perhaps it was for the apartment, he thought. The second one unlocked it and they entered a skinny entrance foyer. An orange tabby cat was napping on the welcome mat close by._

_They walked up three flights of stairs and down the hall to a middle apartment unit. Cesare used the first key on the keychain and opened the door._

_The apartment was probably less than 700 square feet total, and had a few furnishings. The living and dining space were combined, with the L-shaped kitchen occupying most of the wall space sharing the front door. A futon couch sat in front of a TV stand in the living room, a round table with four chairs sat in the eat-in kitchen dining space. All the appliances were of the smaller, apartment variety, with four burners, a small oven, a narrow refrigerator, a microwave with a vent and a combination washer/dryer machine. The hallway led to a bathroom, equipped with a single sink and mirror, towel warmer, toilet, bidet and tub with a showerhead set up. The last room was the bedroom, two twin beds pushed together, and a wall of mirrored closets. He closed the door behind them as Lucrezia put her luggage down on the creaky wood floors and walked to the double doors in the living room, towards the back of the space. She unlocked them and opened them, revealing the shallow balcony, revealing the view of Rome. Before her were stucco buildings of various yellows and orange, terra cotta tiles, TV antennas sitting on rooftops, laundry hang-drying out on balconies, and greenery clinging onto the side of the buildings. The sounds of the occasional cyclists or moped poured through the street, and then disappeared as if they weren’t even there._

_“It’s a pretty blank slate,” Cesare put his own bags down and approached her as she continued to stand with hands on the doors, arms wide open. “But give it time; you can decorate however you want it.”_

_She took a deep breath, letting the warm Italian air in the room. “It really is perfect,” and she looked to him over her shoulder, a soft smile on her face._

_That night, Cesare insisted that she sleep in the bedroom while he slept on the fold-out futon in the living room. After making love to his younger sister, and then making out with her in front of her dead boyfriend’s body, he wasn’t sure he actually had morals anymore. But wasn’t that why he arranged to move them here, posing as a young couple living together?_

_No. He brought her here so she could escape from that world, a world surrounded by corruption, deceit, and death._

_Sure… then why make paperwork for himself? He could have just had her leave on her own._

_He wanted her, he wanted this more than anything. But what about her, he thought._

_When he woke up early that next morning, she was lying beside him on the futon. Not touching, not pressed to him, but still completely in his reach._

_And only his reach._

\--

 

He opened up the last umbrella for the patio seating and began folding some green napkins, laying the cloth napkins on the outside tables. He watched as a couple approached the trattoria, hesitant, reading their guide book, and whispering to one another.

 

She approached them, with a smile on her face. “Ciao!”

 

“Uh, ciao,” the man responded.

 

“Buon pro-pom-pomeriggio,” the woman read from her guide book. “Doo-doo-eh--.”

 

“Table for two?” she politely interrupted. “Sit anywhere you like. I’ll be back soon with a menu.”

 

“Oh, thank god, she speaks English,” the woman laughed alongside her husband.

 

He hid his smile by looking down, continuing his task.

\--

 

_It was Lucrezia’s idea, actually._

_They were standing in front of a salon, her arm linked around his, after a productive morning buying groceries. “New life, new me.”_

_“I like your hair, though,” Cesare protested._

_But they walked in anyway. Her Italian was good, polished, scholarly, unlike his casual, vernacular version. He stood quietly and listened, making sure there were no mess-ups of miscommunication. She sat down and the stylists began, wetting her hair, combing it out and cutting her long tresses to just above her shoulder. Then, honey lowlights were applied, creating a deeper, richer shade to her usually golden hair._

_She had so much foil in her hair, she looked like she could pick up radio frequencies, he joked to himself. But she could see him in the mirror and smiled at him. He thought she looked adorable._

_“Waiting for your girlfriend?” one of the stylists, a tall woman with primary red colored hair, asked him in Italian._

_He had glanced at himself in Lucrezia’s mirror, his dark curly hair reaching the base of his jawline. “Can you cut and straighten my hair?”_

_Lucrezia’s eyes widened._

_“Sure, not a problem,” the stylist led him to another chair, far in the back near some of the chemical straighteners and sink basin. The stylist straighten his hair from his curls, and then cut his hair so that it was only an inch short around the back and sides, and up to three inches in the front and up top._

_At the end of their hair sessions, the new Lucrezia smiled at the new Cesare. “You look really good,” she said, and she combed her fingers in his up-styled coif._

_\--_

_He kept the balcony windows open, letting the warm breezes pass through the space. Cesare was already lying down on the unfolded futon couch, with only a white sheet covering his body. He was staring out at the stars, playing connect the dots, trying to pinpoint constellations._

_“I was looking at the passports.”_

_He turned around to the dark hallway, her standing silhouette barely visible. “What?”_

_“Our new names,” Lucrezia stated, stepping towards him, moonlight slowly illuminating her until she was standing in front of the futon, wearing a soft pink oversize sleep shirt. “That wasn’t Micheletto’s idea, was it? They were yours.”_

_“What makes you say that?” he asks, sitting up from his position._

_She sat right beside him on the futon, “Because,” she raised a cocky eyebrow. “You see us in them. A love so passionate and crazy, it practically consumes them.”_

_Geez, she can read him like a book._

_“The only difference is that we beat the circumstances,” Lucrezia added as she casually crawled onto his lap. He froze at her movements, his fingertips brushing her warm skin briefly as she settled into position. She leaned forward, towards his left ear, arms around his neck, her fingers combing through his newly cut hair. “We’re free,” she whispered into his ear._

_That’s right. They ran away. They were untraceable. They had a secure influx of finances, mapping through different banks of the world. They were free._

_He tilted his head towards her, feeling her breath fan his lips. They locked eyes with each other for just a moment, but that was enough time to read what they wanted. She leaned forward first, their lips meeting in a passionate collision. Lucrezia moaned into his mouth as his hands ran up and down her body. Cesare gathered fistful of her shirt fabric in his hands to pull off her top and then resumed his kiss. He cradled her, careful, as he raised his hips and rolled her to her back. He pulled off her underwear and tossed it aside with her shirt; he couldn’t help but marvel at her body, lying down on the futon, completely bare for him._

_The open balcony doors were letting moonlight pool over their naked bodies. Her hair splayed around her head like a dark halo, her breasts rising and falling with every breath, her skin fair and glowing. Cesare’s lips dropped to her hips, right underneath her navel. She inhaled sharply as his lips slowly made its way up her torso, up her abdomen, to her round breasts. Her breaths heightened quickly when his lips suckled gently on her nipples, as he simultaneously entered her core._

_“Cesare…” Lucrezia gripped the beddings above her head, rocking her hips back to match his rhythm._

_They were free to be who they wanted to be. To do what they wanted. Shivers ran down his back as he thrust deeper inside her. Cesare was free to be with Lucrezia, as passionate and crazy as they deemed fit._

_“Maybe,” she whispered as the sky starting changing from black to dark blue, “maybe we should start calling each other by our new names.”_

_“Mmm,” he nodded weakly but kept his eyes closed, holding her close._

_That was the last night the futon was slept in._

\--

 

“So, when you see Via di Torre Argentina, you turn left. Then, about three more blocks, the Pantheon should be on your right side.”

 

“Oh, good! It’s only a fifteen or so minute walk!” the woman smiled to her.

 

“What was your name again?” the man asked her.

 

“Eloisa.”

 

He shook her hand. “Eloisa, thank you so much for your help.”

 

“My pleasure,” she smiled back and waved to the couple as they walked down the street.

 

She was always a joy for customers, he noticed since they started working at this trattoria about six months ago.

 

“Pietro!” his boss called for his attention.

 

The hours passed, customers came and gone, and before they knew it, their shift was over by nightfall. They would walk back to the Trastevere, hand in hand as usual, dropping by a small restaurant for dinner before heading back to their apartment.

 

They would get ready for bed after a little more TV watching, shower, and brush their teeth. Then they would undress and lie in bed together; her head resting peacefully on his chest, listening to his heart beat.

 

They had actually stopped calling each other by their birth names for quite some time now. It originally started as practice, to call and response to their new names in public, but after a while, it just stuck. Sometimes, they would slip, especially during moments of passion, when they become so wrapped up with one another, calling out their original names when climax was reached. But once they returned to their bearings, they returned to their new identities because those old names felt like a lifetime ago.

 

To Italy, they were not Cesare and Lucrezia, siblings with an indecent relationship, born from a corrupt wealthy family in the United States.

 

They were Pietro and Eloisa, two lovers with an unamazing past, just living day by day, without any inhibitions, together in the Eternal City. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking around and reading this story. :)


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